Trade

I’m in the middle of trying to get a bit of work done to my flat. It’s one of those very practical things that feels very adult indeed. I’ve been comparing quotations and checking people’s insurance and credentials. And laughing at how much I’ve grown up in the last few years because the last time I hired anyone to work on my flat, the fact he was incredibly fuckable was just as much a concern as how well he could lay my floor.

But don’t worry, even my formerly slutty self didn’t let him lay me as well. I just spent two long days flirting outrageously with him and respecting the fact that temptation wasn’t going to make him cheat on his clearly adored girlfriend. In a world where so many men will fuck you if they think they can get away with it, his honesty and conscience even when his cock was whispering in his ear made him even hotter.

That wasn’t where I learned to flirt with workmen. I think I developed that skill in my teens when I started working in service industry jobs and learned that male manual workers are often the only men who understand the use of emotional labour and platonic flirting as social interaction.

There’s probably some class dynamics in there about being the ‘hired help’ around middle class women who are paying their bill, but either way I have always loved flirting with workmen. Partly I can’t help playing up that stereotype that girly girls like me know nothing about practical things like paint or shelving because it often allows me to flirt my way to discounts or use the element of surprise that I actually know much more than I’m letting on if needed.

But mainly a lot of manual workers are hot. There’s something about the physique of a man’s body that comes from the simple act of using for hard physical work in the course of a day that always appeals to me in a way a gym honed body has never done. I love that hint of muscle and promise of strength in a body that moves and builds things for a living.

And watching people do something they are skilled at is one of my greatest turn ons. It doesn’t particularly matter what the skill is but seeing someone do something they are so confident and skilled at that they make it look easy gives me that pinch in my stomach of attraction as well as stirring in my cunt. Doesn’t matter if it’s cooking a meal, re-roofing a house or tiling a floor really. The attraction is in the expertise.

So when a friend asked me if I would stay at their flat for a couple of days while they were having some work done to the windows I agreed readily. Rather than them take time off work to let the guy in and out all day, I was happy to supervise and hope I hadn’t set myself up to stare at builder’s bum and make tea all day for a man with dubious political views which is the flip side to spending time round men who work with their hands.

But the slutty gods were smiling on me because he was young, handsome and Hungarian. I’m usually not a fan of Aryan looking men but his wholesome ashy blonde hair and blue eyes were complimented by an underlying air of filth that made me much more interested in making him tea and discussing Central European politics than I’d usually be.

He really did work on those windows the first day although there was much more flirtation on the second day. But by the third when the work had moved indoors, things stepped up a notch. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing him leaning over the sills with his ass right in my line of view all morning.

This time he took his lunch break and as we moved round the fairly small kitchen he brushed against me a few times that way that could be accidental if the response wasn’t favourable. I brushed back as he insisted on helping me wash up the mugs and plates used before he went back to work.

I spent the afternoon very aware of that sensation of where he’d grazed against my ass with his crotch feeling the tingle linger in my cunt and distract me. He’d stayed out of my sight line since then and I wondered if he was feeling awkward. I decided bringing him a beer when he finished work was the way to go.

He thanked me and finished clearing up. I slunk back into the kitchen feeling foolish and horny for mistaking porn for real life and started putting the washing up away. Clattering plates I didn’t hear him come up behind me until he set the beer bottle on the counter and slid his hands round my hips pressing me against him.

I went soft against how hard he was and he brushed his hands increasingly firmly across my tits and hips before pulling the zip of my jeans down, letting his fingers explore my clit and then inside my cunt as I leaned back into him. He had strong hands to hold me but with fingers used to small skilful movements and he made me squirm as I came.

Only then did we end up facing each other and we kissed before it was my turn to run my hands over him, slipping the straps of his painters overalls down to reveal that he wasn’t wearing any underwear and his cock was right there for me to play with.

I pulled the overalls right down and slipped his cock into my mouth. I was right that he was the right kind of filthy. He was shaved smooth and scented with just enough hard work and sweat to make me really want to suck on his balls too. I alternated between cock and balls with my mouth until he pushed his dick further into my mouth.

I balanced myself by cupping my hand under his balls as I sucked his cock and he reached down and cupped my fingers further back pressing against his asshole. I paused and he widened his stance so I knew he wanted my finger inside him. I put my fingers on top his cock and drew them down it as I sucked them slick and then slipped one into his ass.

He stiffened against and then opened up so my finger was able to slide in and out in time to my mouth on his cock, literally sucking and fucking him at the same time staring up at his face from my knees. His eyes were closed and he was only moving in synch with my actions almost like he was in trance.

Suddenly he startled forward grabbing my shoulders so my finger pressed inside his ass and he came so hard into my mouth I couldn’t swallow it all running down my chin and making his cock slip out of my mouth as he was still coming. It was dripping off his cock and my face and onto the floor as he was still gripping my shoulders.

He let go and I stood up to kiss him still covered in his come. I pulled my jeans up and he stepped back, pulling his overalls off completely so he was naked from the waist down and taking a cloth he got down on his hands and knees, back to me with his just fucked arsehole visible and slowly and deliberately mopped up his own come as I watched.

Still on the floor, he tossed the cloth in the sink and pulled my jeans back down and buried his tongue in my cunt with his cock in his hand. We both came again and only just had time to get dressed and composed again before my friend arrived home with more beers to thank us both with.

I have no idea what we sat and  talked about because both my mind and cunt were still completely distracted. I’m not sure I’ll ever look at a pair of painters overalls again the same way….

Trade

Making Up The Numbers

I am a woman of my word. So when I promise myself that I’ll fuck a different man every day for three months or that I’ll tell you how I managed to meet my challenge at the last minute, I always mean it.

Unsurprisingly fucking different people every single day for three months is tiring (a month is probably more manageable FYI) and to a certain extent the men and the sex started to blur together a bit.

A few stood out but I mainly remember how I met them not what happened when we fucked. So I was slowing down a little bit by the last day but at the same time determined not to have got that far to fall at the last hurdle. I wanted to literally go out with a bang.

Back in those days I was quite the club kid and London was full of small obscure nights usually under railway arches or in industrial estates at the end of bus routes. I came of age in the Nineties and eschewed glamour on nights. Give me a room above a pub or a sticky floored dive bar or a club where the sweat drips off the roof. The drinks were cheaper, the music was better and the men tended to be the rough and ready kind I like.

So after a long Saturday at work daydreaming of dick and also a day to myself after this was all over, I waited til my flatmates had gone out and went home to get ready. I had a particular club in mind in the dim and distant arches beyond London Bridge and I wanted to go alone and without attention from anyone I knew.

The fashions of the Nineties had blended seamlessly into the wide leg low slung trousers of the Noughties and in those days hipster referred more to how low you could hang them on your hips than anything else. I had a particular pair of dark denim jeans that sat just low enough to stay up without a belt but while making people wonder about underwear.

I wore them everywhere and on this occasion I I knew I didn’t need knickers, teaming them with only a bikini top and a light zip up Adidas top to keep me decent until I was in the club. The club played achingly cool British hip hop that suggests more than just the cut of my jeans was hipster after all and not many girls went there willingly, mainly accompanying their boyfriends in a slightly territorial fashion.

I knew that from the look of the guy on the door I’d have no difficulty going in or out if I said I needed some fresh air. In fact he was my back up plan, but it didn’t take long to attract the same attention at the bar being clearly by myself and barely wearing any clothes. I ordered a drink and a guy immediately squeezed in beside me to pay for it.

I thanked him by agreeing to drink it with him and just as we got chatting his two friends joined us from the dance floor. Being in a mood to flirt I was immediately intrigued to play them off against each other and make them compete for my attention. I love how often men are much more comfortable with ‘pulling’ in groups and will embrace it so that at least one of them gets laid.

And these three clearly fancied themselves some kind of Muskateers because they definitely accepted the attention I gave them and worked as a team in return, encouraging each other. I can’t remember which of them suggested the Ecstasy but I’m sure it was the tallest, cockiest one who’d bought me the drink. It worked quicker than I expected taking casual flirting into dancing close up, touching each other more and that sexual intimacy that says fucking is a certainty.

A few hours in and I was glad I’d worn so few clothes. The place was so hot and sweaty I really did need to step outside to stop myself overheating. I excused myself to the tallest guy and walked away. He followed me at a few paces and asked if I was alright going outside alone. I told him to follow me out but only once he’d told his friends where we’d be.

Railway arches provide all kinds of shadows to lean into especially in those darkened laneways and I’d barely stepped into the shade of one when the tallest guy brushed up beside me. I leaned into him and we kissed before he pushed me back against the wall and brushed his hand down my exposed stomach toward my low slung waistband until my cunt clenched in pleasure as he unbuttoned my jeans.

By the time his slightly giggling, clearly horny friends found us after searching the archways, I was bent forward against the wall, ass in the air with him inside me while his hands pinched my nipples. I don’t know if it was the drugs or flirting from earlier but there was none of the awkwardness women would have if they saw a friend fucking.

Men are also more comfortable being overtly sexual in front of each other and if there’s anything I love more than watching a man masturbate, it’s watching men masturbate together. With my back to the other two I couldn’t see it but I could hear it. The buzz of a zip, those tiny throaty noises, the sound of skin on skin and the subtle change in pace until all three were in unison with each other as one fucked me and the other two watched him.

These were the only sounds until the tallest one spoke to ask if I wanted more. I wasn’t sure if he meant fucking me harder but when I said yes, he told the stockier darker guy to step forward and for me to ask him to fuck me. I didn’t just ask but I gave him the condoms I’d come prepared with too.

He was much heavier and bent me over less, fucking me in a rhythmic shallow way that slapped his hips against my bare ass as he reached round and smacked my clit until I came. All the while I was completely aware of the audience behind me and it was so ridiculously filthy it made me as euphoric as the Ecstasy itself.

I asked for more, knowing that the third guy would step up. Skinny and sandy haired, he looked like a naughty schoolboy except for the impressively hard cock he had in his hand. Again we exchanged condoms before he fucked me, pulling me back against his slender cock and pressing my ass against his balls as his friends watched.

It’s hard to keep track when you’re getting the sights, sounds and feels of three cocks but it was only when the skinny guy pulled out of my soaking wet cunt and bent me further forward with his hand on the back of my neck that I realised none of the three men had come.

They needed no reminder, stepping forward and leaning over me cocks in hand, condoms long gone and all three of them came over my lower back. I had no idea whose orgasm was whose, but each sound varied from a closed mouthed gasp to almost a bark as he slapped my ass and long silent groan of breath.

Their come seemed to start together but carry on in variation so I had no idea who was doing what. I was still bent forward, a hand on the back of my neck in that place that makes me ripple with pleasure and my own hand on my clit bringing myself to orgasm as three men’s come dripped down my back, ass and the top of my thighs.

I felt them step back and the moment was over. I pulled my jeans back up aware that without my jacket the come on my back was a visible brand of my sluttery. Each of them kissed me in that oddly platonic way way polite boys do when they want to thank someone for having them and urged me to come back and dance with them and see where else the night went.

There was no awkwardness or judgement of me for fucking them all but I was suddenly exhausted and all I wanted was my bed, completely alone and not touching anyone. I declined their invitation to keep dancing and they took the opportunity to leave with me and look for food instead.

We walked back to London Bridge, telling me their names and chatting like old friends do. I was acutely aware that my silence looked like I was regretting the whole thing but I was just fucked out in ways they couldn’t imagine. I kissed them all again and hailed a black cab before they suggest anything more.

I couldn’t utter more words than my address to the cab driver and crawled straight into bed, falling asleep covered in sweat and come only to dream that all the men I’d fucked over those months were stroking their cocks for me. My subconscious is an even bigger slut than the rest of me clearly….

Making Up The Numbers

Trio

Most people find Monday nights a minor annoyance. But my Master is not most people. He texted me on Sunday morning and told me he had plans for going to the cinema on Monday night with me and Princess and picturing his come dripping out of me while I was trying to watch the film.

I’m usually more a double bill of Coronation Street on a Monday night kind of girl but I could turn into a film buff with an invitation like that. Not only did I make sure I was free, I made sure I was dressed up and ready for his orders long before the matinee starts.

And he was definitely feeling creative. I spent my afternoon in a meeting and when I finally finished there was a selection of texts detailing exactly how the evening was going to start. I was to meet Princess at their house and make sure I was tied to the bed with her face between my legs by the time he got home but I wasn’t to come at all until he was there and her fist was inside me.

Princess loves to see how much of a brat she can make me be so she didn’t trust me to use the under mattress bed restraints that she always tries to pull her hands out of so she used the spreader bar to put my hands above my head so I had to twist and wriggle to obey my orders not to come as she licked my clit.

Luckily for me my Master was home early and I was counting us on him not being the kind to make us sneak into the cinema while the ads are already playing. I expected him to come straight in and give us both orders that take charge since we had a deadline to aim for.

Instead I heard him going into the kitchen and open and close the fridge and walk around all while I was squirming and biting my lip under Princess’s expert tongue determined not to disobey my orders. I was quite surprised when his first order to me when he walked into the bedroom was to open my eyes.

I thought it was to disorient me and make me work harder to hold my orgasm back so was surprised when it was actually so he could pour prosecco into my mouth from a glass he was holding. Unable to lift my upper body with the spreader bar and my lower body with Princess holding my legs open and pressing down on my clit the prosecco poured down my chin and across my tits instead.

Princess was happy to be ordered onto her knees to lick the chilled bubbles from my tits before going back for once again to tempt me into behaving badly under her tongue. Sir had other ideas, taking her hand as she licked and guiding two, then three, then four of her fingers into my cunt for her.

She didn’t need much encouragement to take over sliding her thumb in and teasing my cunt wide open with her hand. It’s been a while since I was fisted and it took my cunt a moment or two to remember its muscle memory. There was a brief second where I thought I couldn’t take any more than five duck billed fingers fucking me and then my cunt just relaxed and opened.

I couldn’t tell if Princess still had five fingers or her whole fist inside me until I heard my Master say ‘ clench your fist’ and I realised her whole hand right up to the wrist had just glided in as easily as me as taking a breath in. It felt so good having her hand buried deep in cunt that I couldn’t believe I’d ever doubted taking it.

I just had time to think that and then I was coming so hard it felt like moment water rushes over your head and blocks all the noises out leaving you completely aware of your body yet floating at the same time. All those denied orgasms exploded into one that practically lifted me off the bed.

No wonder my Master couldn’t wait to slide his cock inside me as soon Princess took her hand out. Coming around a substantial object always makes my cunt even looser and more stretched and ready for being fucked and I know Sir loves the way it feels around him. His cock feels even harder the more I gape open and the contrast made me come again almost immediately.

Watching me take his cock that deep and hard made Princess greedy for him too and still reeling from the orgasms, I was happy to lie back and watch his cock slamming so hard into her cunt that she kept losing her balance and falling face first into my tits making my nipples harden and her beg Sir to pick her up and fuck her until she came even harder than I had with her fist.

I love that sound of Sir’s body and balls slapping hard against her as they fuck. They fit so well together and know each other so well and lying there with the Doxy pressed against me, seeing Princess get ready to come again made Sir do something he rarely does when the three of us fuck.

Rather than choreographing all three of us so Princess and I come to his orders no matter what combination of fucking is going on, my Master allowed himself to concentrate completely on his own orgasm inside Princess focusing completely on them together.

It was ridiculously hot lying under them so her cunt was directly above my face, watching him lose control and let go into her cunt with an orgasm that made the bed shake knowing that if she came again his come would drip out of her. All I had to do was press the Doxy on my clit and wonder if Sir’s come would end up on my face or follow the prosecco over my tits.

Ending up with come dripping down both my face and my nipples seemed like an excellent compromise. But by the time I was presentable again, the Orient Express had left the station. Maybe next time we’ll go to the late showing and Sir can cover my cunt with come as well as my face…

Trio

Odds On

In my spare time I have a slightly odd hobby in that I absolutely love advice columns. I subscribe to some straight to my inbox, catch some up weekly and have others I like to binge read when I’m ill in bed. I equally enjoy giving advice and reading other people’s especially on subjects I know nothing about. It’s like people watching while I’m housebound and keeps my all girls school mentality of gossip in check.

But sometimes it also reminds me just how unconventional I really am. Each time for example I read about women being upset their husbands ever masturbate, I am reminded that making my Master his own curated porn clips with his wife for his birthday is unusual. Seeing people fume and fizz with jealousy because their partner has a close opposite sex friend baffles me because I don’t understand jealousy.

And I am constantly wide eye emoji look as to how many people can’t cope with finding out their partner has a sexual past of any kind. Grown adults devastated that they aren’t the first person to touch their boyfriend’s dick or that their girlfriend once had sex with someone she hadn’t been on six dates and decided on their future dog’s name with. They genuinely seem aghast and upset that their current squeeze isn’t box fresh for them.

I’ve worked bloody hard to create a bubble where people don’t judge my sexual past anymore that I’ve forgotten just how shockable a lot of people are by anything that deviates from the norm to them. But I used to be surrounded by this day to day and it made me miserable. It was clearly designed to shame me out of my slutty ways and make me behave better. And it did not work.

It simply made me create a different kind of bubble where I had two lives. Nice respectable me who discussed the merits of different online dating sites as if hunting for someone to eventually move in with and utterly slutty me who once decided to set myself a challenge to see if I could fuck a different man every day for three months. No particular point to prove, just the opposite of abstaining from something for a set period of time. Slutty Season rather than Sober October I guess?

Luckily I was young and living and working in Central London and was quite the party girl with time to spare so a challenge like that made it feel like the world was at my feet more than fishing in a small pond. The trick was not being too obvious about it so that my friends and flatmates wouldn’t spot it.

It made me bolder in many ways. I went to pubs on my own and scanned the bar to see who I felt like fucking. I discovered that men are so unused to women buying them a drink that you can have all kinds of fun with them after that. Yet I also played up to all kinds of sexual stereotypes shamefully too and asked men in supermarkets to help me with things on high shelves as a good way to offer to thank them with a drink.

I had a friend who ran gallery events filled with hot young men who couldn’t decide if they were networking or peacocking and for cash in hand and the kind of cheap white wine you get at openings I offered to help run the cloakroom or man the meet and greet and hand out guides. Both were the perfect excuse to flirt and make eyes and then slip my number into their coat pocket or programme for them to discover later.

I left business cards with waiters as I tipped or I ‘forgot’ my coat on several occasions when with friends to go back into cafes and give out my number. I became much more tolerant of those charity muggers outside Tube stations, letting them give me their spiel about blind homeless donkeys in order to proposition them in return. I got round to doing small odd jobs and shopping trips that involved builders merchants and other predominantly male stores.

I took up a friend’s husband’s offer to teach me to play pool in a working men’s club in Pimlico and took full advantage of being the only woman there. I hung out in bookshops asking questions about things I’d studied at university as a way to strike up conversation with hipster booksellers who thought they’d finally found a woman who really wanted to read Murakami.

I dragged myself out to to promotional events in Shoreditch dive bars and befriended bouncers and barmen as well as allowing men to tell me all about their ‘big idea’. I used Guardian Soulmates which is those days was in print in the Saturday Guide and involved having to phone voicemail as a precursor to online dating. I talked to men on the Tube and in the street and queues. And I carried on with my normal day to day life in my local pub and encountering men at work and through people I knew.

In the process I got to really know London in a way that made it feel like home for me that most imports to the city never manage and is probably why I still live here fifteen years later. I have no idea how many phone numbers I accumulated in those three months but it was literally hundreds. I feel like I filled my Nokia 3310 address book to bursting point but that might be nostalgic hyperbole.

I soon found that for roughly every five men I engaged with I got one fuck. I had to make a special trip to go to Boots for a Meal Deal for lunch from work at least once a week to buy condoms by the twelve pack. I turned men down who wanted to date and I set more geographical limitations than sexual ones. I fucked in lot of pub toilets, alleyways and stockrooms.

And despite all that work, I almost didn’t make my target. A couple of flaky dates, a few guys who seemed like bad news and a couple of occasions I couldn’t shake friends or work off to be free to fuck left me three men short on my last day. I debated giving my Lenten exemption of Sundays not counting to extend the deadline, but that felt like cheating.

My bubble of pure London sluttery never got burst in those three months by friends or flatmates and years later I never brought that past in the present and told people that I once fucked nearly a hundred people in three months just to see if I could. I knew I’d never live that number down.

But next Thursday I will tell you how I hit my target like the over achiever I am…

 

Odds On

Come Together

I’ve never been one for associating music with sex. I’ve never really understood that whole ‘our song’ thing and back in my teens and twenties when music was much more a part of my day to day, my tastes didn’t really suit sex unless you could move like your life depended on it. I was also put off by the occasions men would pick a soundtrack to fuck to, never sure if it was worse to hear ‘Let’s Get It On’ for the millionth time or the utterly jaw-dropping choice of Sham 69’s ‘Evil Way’ once*.

But the other night my Spotify Discover Weekly came up with The Beatles ‘Come Together’ and it definitely made me think of my Master and Princess. How could I not with the lines “He say. One and one and one is three. Got to be good looking ’cause he so hard to see. Come together right now over me”?

It’s not often songs reference three people without one of them being a home wrecker so that certainly tickled me as much as the title summons up filthy images. One of the best things I’m finding about a  long term sexual relationship is that sense of knowing someone so well you can adapt to them and have those simultaneous orgasms that most people think only exist in films.

Both my last threesomes with my Master and Princess ended with us all coming at the same time first with her watching my Master fuck me stupid and then with me watching her take three cocks at once and him coming in her mouth as I made myself come with the Doxy.

Princess is by no means the cock slut I am so when she took a huge extender that Sir had bought to fuck me more open with and started fucking herself with it while his cock was buried in me both Sir and I were very pleasantly surprised.

I’d started her off with the pink toy in her cunt and she clearly wanted more, filling herself up with the extender and taking advantage of its open side to slide a second cock inside it to push two fingers inside to get her going while she watched Sir fuck me for the second time that day.

My cunt was so well fucked after his cock twice and the Doxy once that unusually I wasn’t quite as greedy for cock as normal and unable to take my Master as deep as is my habit. Princess however wasn’t filled up enough with the extender and put the pink toy inside it to help fuck herself harder as she rode both on her knees and begged for the Doxy on her clit too.

Sir is always scrupulously fair with us both and always makes sure we both get fucked equally so if he hadn’t taken himself out of my cunt and into Princess’s mouth then and there, I would have felt greedy keeping him all to myself considering how desperate for dick she was.

Lying on her back with the double toy in her cunt and Sir’s cock deep in her mouth, she’s rarely looked sluttier and I can’t remember if Sir told me or I couldn’t help myself and I lifted the Doxy onto her clit while she swallowed him and fucked herself in tandem. I knew exactly when to turn the wand up so she would come and open her mouth even wider and wetter for Sir to come into.

Watching both of them change pace, catch their breath, tense their muscles, make noise and deepen in concentration was so fucking hot to see. There’s no boredom in knowing the pitch and sway of their orgasms so well, no sense of ‘seen it all before’ but more the flow of a well rehearsed performance piece coming (literally) together.

It meant I knew exactly when to press the Doxy full power on Princess’s achingly greedy cunt and lean against them both so that the vibrations of the toy and the way she lifts her hips when she comes would go straight to my cunt and make me come at the same time they both did. Pitch perfect timing even with the element of  surprise of Princess being so cock hungry for once.

The only thing that would have been hotter than that synchronicity is if Sir had actually “come together right now over me” and come over Princess’s face or tits instead so I could see it even more clearly than in her mouth. We might need an encore next time….

 

*Spoiler alert: someone actually played me this song while we fucked and my orgasm curled up, died and moved to Australia. Just seeing the lyrics is bad enough but it’s sung in a mock Cockney accent that could wilt a dildo.

Come Together