The Right Note

I loved music when I was a teenager. All my spare time and cash went on getting my hands on music or going to see live music. I love the aspect of collecting it and seeking things out  and finding people you had the same musical tastes in common with. And I loved that it was a great way to meet men.

Men love women who are into things’ they think of as ‘boy’s interests’. Girls who love football or computer games or drink beer are often jokingly referred to as ‘cool girls‘ with the slight sting in the tail that no matter how  much you really love ninja movies or comics or whatever you will be accused of only doing it to impress men.

So while I loved the bands I was into, I also learned quite quickly that I could happily subvert the sexual stereotype to my own advantage and get fucked in the process. And on a couple of occasions I got my hands on an import only issue album as well as their cock. A win-win situation for me frankly.

On this occasion though it was a gig. I was about seventeen and they were a local band done good internationally coming home to an adoring crowd. It was the kind of night you know you’d talk about for years as a teenager and it would be packed. There’s a certain kind of freedom that comes with crowds.

I went with some friends and before the support band had even finished the set I’d some how lost them in the mass of people. I can’t remember if that bothered me to be on my own in a crowd of handsy men as a kid or I felt liberated by it. But I remember glancing round looking for a little space to carve out for myself and tucking into it.

Then I noticed the guy standing there too. Maybe I’d noticed them already and that was why I picked out that space, but I was completely aware of his presence. He just seemed to fill the space in a way that wasn’t at all intimidating. More in the way that made me want to lean against him.

We exchanged polite pleasantries, just enough to make it definitely consensual not not creepy. For some reason I remember that he was from Southampton which meant he was passing through and I wasn’t likely to see him again. This gave me permission to misbehave and embrace the fact he was in holiday mode when people behave the way they want not the way they should.

Luckily I was wearing a skirt. My grandmother would have described it as a belt with that tone of disapproval but that’s exactly why I loved it. It was probably the shortest skirt I’ve ever owned and looked like black leather. That skirt was my secret weapon for several years and I’ve always wanted to find one like it again.

Being December I was also wearing tights but as I slipped in front of the guy and leaned into his chest like guys do with their girlfriends at gigs to hold them in place away from thrashing arms and grabby hands, he reached down and used his thumbs to rip the crotch of my tights open. My underwear was easy to push aside so now he had perfect access.

I was pressed against him in an incredibly dark crowded space where no one could hear a single thing except the band and despite several thousands of people round us we had a surprising amount of privacy. He took advantage of that by using his fingers to make me arch my back and have to hold my myself up while he made me come in public.

He teased me that the more I squirmed and seemed to collapse against him he’d pull back and leave me on the edge making me stand up straight several times before allowing me to come and using his spare arm to hold me up as I ground down on his fingers and pressed against his incredibly hard cock.

Neither of us were paying any attention to the band. But luckily everyone else was. After the second, maybe third orgasm, he spun me round and started walking me out of the crowd. There was a balcony of seats upstairs in the venue which a few people were using for smoking and drinking smuggled in booze, but it was dark and barely noticed.

We went upstairs and he selected the darkest corner of the seats and sat down pulling me onto his knee turning my head so we could kiss looking for all intents and purposes like many of the other young couples at any gig who use it as an excuse to snog their partner to their favourite bands.

The only difference was that he had pulled his cock out of his fly without pulling his trousers down (I do miss when low slung baggy trousers were in fashion for men. They offered excellent opportunities for access) and was slowly positioning the rip in my tights over his erection.

For a few seconds I had to hold myself up enough to pull my underwear aside and line the angles up before his cock slipped right into my cunt so I literally slid down his dick and sat down hard on his lap. Still with my head turned as we kissed, it looked entirely more innocent than it was.

To keep it that way, he used the tilt of the cinema style seats to tip his hips forward and back gently to fuck me while I had to basically sit still and push my clenched cunt down onto his cock to get as much movement and friction as possible. Sometimes it doesn’t take much to make someone come and this was one of those moments.

He came hard into me, pulling me down tighter onto his lap and pressing his face into my back I presume to hide any noise or facial expressions that might give away that we weren’t just hugging. I remember he seemed to come for what felt like forever as he thrust into me more. I don’t recall if I came but when my Master does that now the feeling of it always pushed me into another orgasm so I presume I did.

We sat for a few minutes with his cock still in my cunt, leaning back and allowing the energy to come back for both us before disentangling ourselves. He walked me back downstairs and we watched the rest of the gig in comfortable silence.

The only difference was that while an hour earlier I had been delighted with the shortness of my skirt now I was hoping I wouldn’t accidentally flash the rip in the crotch that advertised I really was a slut not just a fan of short skirts…

The Right Note

Foundations

If I counted up the amount of time I waste on Twitter, I’d probably hang my head in shame. But occasionally it comes up trumps in making me use my time well. Having seen a tweet going round this week asking about your five ‘foundational’ crushes I spent the afternoon trying to remember who any of my crushes were.

Luckily Twitter had a prompt when I saw a friend post her top five and I was reminded that I knew my type early on. I had a huge crush back in the early Nineties on the guitar player Nuno Bettencourt from the band Extreme back in the days when all men seemed to have long hair.

Over time I’d mistaken the long hair and his pretty pouty look for not being my type and rather cute and feminine as if I’d been playing it safe back then. Then my friend posted an image and not only did I very clearly remember buying the magazine it was in, but I realised that pout was in fact all about pure filthiness.

In hindsight a poster like this on my bedroom wall was pinning my colours to the mast early on. While my peers were kissing pictures of Take That goodnight and publicly discussing wanting to meet them, I was sleeping under a photo of a man I knew I wanted to be alone with and having some very private thoughts about.

Years later I was at a party with my then flatmate and feeling slightly awkward when I realised there were ten men in the room and I’d fucked them all. My flatmate chuckled when she realised it too and commented that you’d never guess what they all had in common because they all looked so different to each other so I clearly don’t have a type.

While she was right in that none of the men that night realised the extent of my slutty ways, she was also wrong in that I definitely have a type. Aesthetically I’m a sucker for good cheekbones even now even if I never find long hair attractive on men these days but my type is the sort with that filthy twinkle in their eye.

Put me in a room of twenty men with only one who’d throw you down on the bed rather ask nicely and I will sniff them out like a trained slut hound. I clearly started this game young so I’m well practised and my strike rate is so good I could count the accidental vanilla men on one hand.

I wondered if I’d had to hone this skill and after rediscovering just how dirty Senhor Bettencourt was I tried to think who my other foundational crushes had been. There was David Bowie, particularly in Labyrinth of course. More cheekbones and filthy looks. And something stirred deep inside me when I first saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show and encountered Frank n’ Furter.

I don’t know if the other men I dreamed of in those days of youth count as foundational but my thoughts were filthy all the same. I pictured myself running off to the big city and sucking the cocks of unsuitable but attractive men when I got there. It took me years to realise I actually did fulfil that aspiration in many ways but it wasn’t quite as glamorous as I expected at the time.

So it was good to be reminded I knew my tastes early on. And even better to discover my original foundational crush actually looks filthier now twenty five years later…

Foundations

Extreme

I’ve been enjoying recounting some of my old sex stories recently even if it’s been mildly embarrassing to realise what dubious taste in men younger me had. But I thought this week I’d treat you all to a tale of a decent guy for once.

I have never understood that line about men being more visual than women because trust me all the women I know have a finely honed sense of spotting someone they find hot at a hundred paces. It explains why we all bought so many women’s magazines in our teens to eye up the hot men (and maybe the women too.)

That’s where I spotted him first. A shared copy of a magazine with some friends on an article about the growing interest in extreme sports in the UK. In amongst the fellas with their trousers barely clinging to their arse, he looked more normal as well as the kind of good looking that turns your head.

I could see why the interview featured him so prominently as he had model looks combined with that air of pure filth. He was hands down the best looking man I’d ever seen. I bought a copy of the magazine on the way home from my friend’s house and developed an interest in extreme sports all of a sudden.

This turned out to be an excellent choice on my part. Not only is there quite a skill to admire in chucking yourself round on a BMX bike or skateboard, but it also does incredible things to a man’s arse. Which is how I found myself several years later sitting on a kerb watching men throw themselves at a ridiculously high ramp for fun when who should appear out of nowhere?

I thought I was hallucinating (or had died and gone to heaven) when he walked directly towards me and handed me two tickets for the after show party later before winking and walked off again. I nearly lost my balance on that kerb and definitely lost my cool when everyone stared at me and started trying to invite themselves along with me later. Men that good looking do not come along often.

Which made it ironic that I couldn’t bloody find him later at the party. I had to spend a lot of valuable time chatting to other men about ollies and half pipes and bike brakes like I actually gave a fuck and wasn’t just there to find the ridiculously good looking man who’d been on my mind for two years.

By the time the lights went up at the end of the night he was still missing in action and I was convinced I’d imagined meeting him earlier like some kind of handsome apparition. And then just as I went outside to hail a cab he appeared out of nowhere. I immediately forgot the cab and accepted his offer of a drink back at his hotel as I left to all eyes on me with the good looking stranger from out of town.

We bypassed the bar back at the hotel and went straight to his room instead, piling through the door like a movie cliche kissing each other frantically, pulling at clothes to get naked and falling onto the bed to fuck as quickly as possible. He had a body to match his beautiful face and the hotel had the kind of panoramic view over the city below that goes to your head.

I was on top of him in no time staring down at him and riding his cock lit only by the lights outside as he fucked me stupid that way so few men can do when you’re astride them. All too often men lie flat with their hips pressed to the bed making you do all the work in an awkward way that always made being on top the only way penetration didn’t make me come.

But this guy fucked me like nothing else I’d encountered. That well muscled arse and legs from all those extreme sports led to some very extreme fucking where he seemed to lift me off the bed with his cock so that I had to tip my body forward to stay on and pressed my clit and cunt against him making me come repeatedly in a way that I didn’t know was possible on top until then.

I’d lost count of how many times I’d come before he practically fucked me flat onto my back with the intensity of his own orgasm. We collapsed onto the bed in that breathless giddy well fucked way that feels like floating on air. I was about thank him for the amazing sex when we both jumped about ten feet in the air as someone’s voice said ‘oh you’re finished. I thought that would never end’.

It turned out that in our haste to fuck, neither of us had noticed that his room-mate was there sleeping in the room’s other bed until our enthusiastic fucking had woken him up and given him a full floor show. I was too orgasmed out to care that he had witnessed the whole thing and appreciated that at this point he took himself off to meet other people in the bar so we could carry on.

And carry on we did. Not only did we fuck again that night, we continued to fuck on and off for the next five years despite never living in the same city once and not exchanging contact details for the first two years. We just had a knack of bumping into each other around the UK and Ireland and falling into bed together every time, even once hiring a room by the hour to fuck before his train left London.

We eventially ended up dating properly for a year although we were much less successful at that than being fuck buddies. He remained the only man ever to make me come from being on top until I met my Master and I admit I was almost tempted to meet up for old times’ sake when he friended me on Facebook last year.

But I wasn’t surprised when he mentioned his friend had asked after me after all that time….

Extreme

Broadening My Mind

For someone who’s fucked a lot of men, I’ve actually seen comparatively few huge cocks. Obviously by the law of averages some are smaller and some are larger but ones that make you raise your eyebrows at the size are surprisingly elusive.

Before I met my Master I wouldn’t have said I was a size queen. My main criteria for a cock was whether the owner could fuck me hard with it rather than quibbling over the dimensions. If pressed I’d probably have chosen girth over length for that filled up feeling I’ve always loved but I wasn’t exactly giving marks out of ten like an Olympic judge.

So I remember my first take-my-breath-away-how-big-is-that-cock extremely well because it blew my mind. This was pre internet porn when dial up meant a bigger cock just meant any clips took longer to download. Ironically I had only heard about John Holmes in those days as the inspiration for the Dirk Diggler character in Boogie Nights and it was impossible to separate the man and the myths.

I always expected that if you had a cock you could measure in feet not inches you’d carry yourself with a certain swagger from the secret of what you were packing. You’d be the man who actually had the reason for manspreading. But when it came to it I found the biggest cock I’ve ever seen in the flesh on man who worked in middle level IT who you’d never notice at a party.

Maybe I have dick-dar or he noticed me but I met him through a friend at the pub and promptly forgot about him until months later when he moved in with my friend. His flat was central to the city where I lived at the time and a favoured haunt to start or finish a night out so I got to know him a bit better but he still didn’t stand out especially.

But for some reason I ended up in the flat with him alone one night after some drug fuelled dancing to drum n’ bass and I was horny. We ended up in bed and he seemed to have a moment where it was almost difficult to undo his trousers. I didn’t think much until he actually pulled them off and his cock seemed to fill the whole room.

I literally couldn’t notice anything else but the longest thickest cock I’d ever seen. His hand seemed dwarfed by it as he got even harder and fuller. I couldn’t decide if it terrified or thrilled me but I was in a risk taking mood thanks to the popularity of speed in the 90s. I was my knees to get my mouth round him straight away and turned on to find that my mouth couldn’t close round his monster cock.

I’d never been so utterly filled up that way, forcing my mouth open, lifting my tongue back trying to swallow as much of this huge hard cock as I could. I couldn’t close my lips round him at all and it was making my mouth and eyes water from sucking and gagging like I was absolutely gorging myself myself on dick.

It was glorious and going straight to my cunt. Each time I had to open my jaw wider and lean into him lapping at the head of his cock and not being able to do anything but concentrate on it I was imagining my cunt taking him the same way. I had no illusions about being able to fuck all him but taking the top in my tight cunt was going to give him sensations to make up for him not being to able to fuck me completely senseless.

I don’t know if it was the drugs or being practically drunk on dick but I was so focused on his cock that I wasn’t paying enough attention to the rest of him and noticing his response to me. Instead of working with my mouth he was basically standing still and barely interacting. I assumed he was holding himself back not to come in my mouth so asked him to fuck me.

I don’t know if he thought I was being incredibly literal or not but without even checking to see if I was wet or acknowledging that he had a huge cock he went simply straight to fucking. I paused him for a condom but before anything else he went for penetration and into my cunt as far as possible without pause.

My cunt went dry instantly from pure pain and I sobered up in all ways making him stop and trying to explain that you can’t just go right in and fuck when your cock is built like a baby’s arm. He pouted and started pushing himself in more gradually complaining that he was close to coming.

I sensed there was very little to be gained trying to teach him and instead for one of the only times in my life I lay back and thought of England thinking ‘what’s the worst that can happen?’ as I suspected he’d have come within ninety seconds. It felt longer but I doubt it was.

He rolled off me and straight to sleep face first in his bed while I got up, got dressed and left with little more to say to him. I went home disappointed not have got to play properly with this new toy but comforted myself with the irony that his complicated double barrelled name included the word ‘broad’ proving that nominative determinism is alive and well and would make a great anecdote.

I rarely thought of him without that little chuckle to myself but only when I met my Master did I realise that such disappointing sex with such a huge cock had given the association that bigger was simply sore and held me back from being the size queen I was destined to be sooner.

But I suppose the good news is my Master would have missed out train me up like he has and stretching me out for you all to see if my first massive cock hadn’t disappointed me so much…

Broadening My Mind

Links

Technology is a wonderful thing sometimes. The internet provides me with unlimited opportunities for filth from online shopping for sex toys, erotica, porn and clips and of course, blogging here. I’m an enthusiastic adopter of that side of modern life trust me.

But sometimes technology drives me batshit. Today my phone decided that my Master wasn’t properly in my phone after three years dividing his name and his instant messages  into separate entities like we don’t actually know each other.

Yet at the same time Instagram has a unerring knack of linking me to men I fucked or flirted years ago. Sometimes I double take before I recognise the face or the name. I often raise an eyebrow at the fact they are showing off the domestic life and clearly long term relationship they lied about having before hoping I’d suck their cock.

So many men must think a version of ‘my wife/girlfriend doesn’t understand me’ is a turn on for women to keep trotting that old chestnut out without any self awareness. But as someone whose done some outrageous things to get laid in their lifetime, I try not to judge anyone too harshly for lines and excuses in the hunt for orgasms.

That’s not to say I don’t have some limits though. There are the men who when I see them crop up on my social media having studiously avoided any contact with them for years that make me want to drop my phone in the bin. There’s an ex boyfriend who took bullshit into a new league, the man who literally compared my cunt in detail to his ex wife’s and the common or garden lazy bastards.

These are the men who you meet online who obviously leap at the chance to get their cock sucked by a slutty woman who has approached them and offered to fulfil their fantasies. Just as long as they don’t have to make any effort at all to the point of passive dismissiveness.

They refuse to travel to meet you, not even attempting to come halfway because as one put it, that costs me money you know. No matter what time you arrange, they need to change it to suit them better even when you’ve made it clear it wasn’t up for negotiation. Or they manage their manners til you meet up and then the rudeness starts in small undermining ways like it’s a transaction they don’t even need to pay for.

Seeing those men cross paths with my life again leaves a very bad taste in my mouth. Why Instagram couldn’t have given me the clues about them before I had to learn for myself instead of afterwards huh? Most of my sluttiness took place before there were these online trails and evidence and it unsettles me slightly.

It removes much of the anonymity and detachment I liked about casual sex and I don’t like an intimate object deciding what level of connection I have with someone after sexual contact with them. Bumping into them in street or crossing paths at a party feels very different to be urged to friend them and engage with them in the non sexual aspects of my life.

That’s something I’ve chosen in my relationship with my Master (and Princess) eschewing casual sex along the way. But I want to know that no social media or instant messaging service makes decisions in my life over his orders…

Links

Door to Door

Princess and I waited in for a parcel the other day marvelling at the modern joys of being able to track your Amazon deliveries on your phone. I was an early adopter of online shopping but even a few years ago, you just had to be in to get the package or you spent weeks tracking it down from some netherworld it went to past your front door.

I was blissfully unaware of this fact as I was spending a lot of time in the house unwell and rarely out and about. My (very nice) neighbour took advantage of this fact to get all her parcels delivered to my house and then she’d pop round for them while I got to flirt with the courier.

Because she ordered from the same catalogue or company a lot it was always the same courier from the same place and he often dropped four or five parcels off a week so at one point I think I saw him more frequently than anyone else and it definitely built from casual flirting into that more directed going somewhere comments.

He was not my type per se in that he was quite short and slight of build but in that way that you know is actually pure sinewy muscle and suppleness underneath that men build casually from life rather than deliberately in a gym. I find this much more appealing that the bulkiness of a gym bunny and combined with being cheekily arrogant, it definitely caught my eye.

I’m not sure if I was the outrageous flirt or he was or we brought it out in each other but as he passed the parcels over to me we’d manage to casually reference his cock in a way that most likely would cause him to get fired in most workplace assessments. My mind was as well acquainted with how I pictured him naked as him in his work clothes actually doing his job.

After about a year of this almost daily sexually charged catching up I didn’t see him for about a month and I was slightly disappointed. Perhaps my neighbour had gone bankrupt and stopped rinsing the Littlewoods catalogue dry five times a week. Maybe he’d left his job. Or I was getting a bit creepy and he’d changed his route. There were still other couriers but it wasn’t quite the same.

Then one late afternoon the doorbell rang and there he was, no corporate polo shirt and cap but a t-shirt showing that lithe muscly body. He explained he’d moved job but was passing by before moving to the other side of town and then paused on the doorstep. I stepped back and let him in. I knew he hadn’t come to chit chat about the gig economy in London. He’d come to fuck.

As soon as he was in my living room with the door closed so the neighbours couldn’t see this home delivery, he kissed me hard and I gave thanks that I rarely wear many clothes in the house. He sank down on my sofa while I stood between his knees and pulled his jeans down just far enough that the tip of his cock was visible reaching out of his underwear .

And it was exactly how I imagined. Against the shape and sleekness of his body his cock looked huge and incredibly appealing. It took willpower to walk away from it to get some condoms from my bedroom but when I came back he was completely naked, lying back on the sofa cock in hand.

He pulled me down onto his lap, carefully stopping my greedy cunt from trying to grind against that gorgeous cock and pulled my top off so I was naked except for a tiny pair of panties. He ran his hands over my body as I squirmed toward him more and tried to get the chance to suck the tip of his cock.

He teased me just long enough before slipping my knickers off and rolling the condom on and pulling me down hard onto him. With my knees up on the sofa I was slightly off balance and all I could do was let his cock slide right inside me so deep I had to just let him basically hold me in place and use his hips to just fuck me as I leaned forward pressed into his chest and right by his face.

The intensity of his cock and the intimacy of how close together we were as we fucked was incredibly hot and we only pulled back slightly for him to lift himself up off the sofa so I tipped back with my tits right in his eye line as he came ridiculously hard into me and I pushed down onto him and came too.

We paused like that for long enough to get our breath back and then we flirted and joked as we got dressed again. He gave me the kind of kiss on the doorstep that only come from having fucked someone you’ll never see again and hints that both his cock and mind will replay the scenario plenty of times in future.

And that’s the only problem with those hot but fleeting fucks, they feel fantastic but leave you so horny all you can do is masturbate to them again immediately afterwards and in my case leave you with a slight sense of longing every time you see a different courier at the door…

Door to Door

Out Of Mind

My Master and Princess have been away for the weekend and because of that I haven’t spoken to them very much. I assumed they’d be pre-occupied and let them get on with it while I plotted a small surprise here for both of them. In fact that was so uppermost in mind that until I spoke to Sir about something else while they were in an airport, I sort of forgot they were still connected to the world as usual.

And it suddenly occurred to me that not only could they still, thanks to the wonders of smartphones, read my blog if they were killing time in an airport lounge but that it hadn’t even entered my head how either of them might feel about reading posts I’ve started writing about other people I’ve fucked.

I’m pretty sure both of them were aware that I’d had some experience beforehand (although if you believe in the concept of virginity, technically Princess took mine with women) but I hadn’t thought before I published if they’d mind reading actual details in the way it’s seen as inappropriate to discuss exes that way usually.

Such a tiny number of the men I’ve ever fucked could be described as an actual ex that I suppose in my head I’d drawn some kind of arbitrary line that it becomes more like describing a night out or a meal I once had. Plus our relationship has always been about sharing sexual things so I didn’t stop to think. Maybe if I’d done more ‘proper’ dating than fucking I’d be more used to automatically considering my partners in that way?

Still gut instinct tells me that despite being owned by my Master he’s not the possessive type in that way and that Princess is more likely to shake her head teasingly about my cunt first think later twenties since she’s always been the opposite to me and combined sex and emotions together.

So I’m pretty sure neither of them read it and felt jealous. But I wondered what else, if anything, it brought up? Are either of them reading it and thinking ‘for fuck’s sake, what were you thinking?’ as I recount a filthy anecdote that is also dripping in risk taking, bad decision making and not even stopping to think about self respect if there was cock to be chased.

It wouldn’t surprise me if it flashed across their mind as it’s certainly crossed mine a few times when I’ve been writing about my past and I want to ask the twenty three old me if she had any fucking sense whatsoever and would she like the number of my excellent therapist instead of a dating app.

I don’t regret my slutty past but I can’t help feel some embarrassment about some of my choices (and a profound sense of relief it was pre internet and pre camera phone.) But I hadn’t realised that it would bother me if my Master or Princess thought less of me for being an idiot rather than being slutty per se.

But then they both tease me affectionately about the married man I was fucking when I met my Master and the fact it took me nearly six months of sex to notice he didn’t have all his front teeth. And if they don’t necessarily judge me for that, then we could assume they aren’t going to start raising eyebrows now.

So what if there’s another possibility? And they find the stories hot? That in some ways it isn’t that different to fantasising about me in a scenario they might want to enact or watching me masturbate in a clip that they can put their own interpretation and kinks on? Maybe it gives them ideas of filth that it wouldn’t have occurred to me to tell them about but enjoyed?

Now that’s an incentive to blog more….

Out Of Mind