Awarded

So I’ve been busy with the non kinky world for the last few days and had no time to blog my second threesome of last week or write up any Throwback Thursday posts. I’ve been doing all kinds of boring life admin things like wrestling with my highly strung internet connection and out of the online world.

Logging back in knocked my socks off when I discovered that the blog is in the Top 100 Sex Blogs on Molly’s Daily Kiss! You lovely lovely people nominated me and I’m in there at number 94 feeling as proud as punch to be in such good company along with so many fantastic bloggers.

Thank you so much to Molly for compiling such a comprehensive list and putting so much work into it. And thank you so much for everyone who nominated me and continues to read and support the blog. It makes writing something so personal so much more enjoyable and engaging for me and of course it appeals to that exhibitionist streak I pretend I don’t have…

Top 100 Sex Bloggers 2017
Awarded

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

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

Near Miss

I’ve been enjoying re-living the men I’ve fucked in the past for the last few weeks here as a little Thursday nostalgia trip but this week I thought I’d shake things up a little bit with a man I didn’t consider I’d fucked at the time.

Back in my 100% straight days I had the heterosexual special view of sex that with men and women it had to be penis in vagina to count for me. Some of this attitude was social conditioning (see how society views the concept of virginity for example) and some was an arbitrary rule to keep my already socially very unacceptable number that little bit lower.

Surely oral didn’t count? Or not actually having an orgasm? Maybe not being completely naked? Had we been formally introduced? Did he pay me? I wasn’t ashamed per se but slightly overwhelmed I think. So if his dick hadn’t penetrated my cunt, it didn’t count in those days. My mileage has changed somewhat since.

I wasn’t really debating the finer points of sexual politics though when I met him. I was on a work night out with all my colleagues and hating every single second of it. It was how I imagine hen dos are without the aggressive penis branding. All Saturday night shrieking and I went to hide at the bar instead of joining the table service shots.

I got chatting to a tall broad shouldered handsome man with a voice like velvet and hands like paws. He was Norwegian and a carpenter and a million times more interesting and soothing than Flaming Sambuccas. And as luck would have it free the next night for drinks. I escaped back to my co workers without them spotting him and arranged to meet him in my favourite hipster Shoreditch bar.

I was a bit nervous when I went to meet him. I was worried he’d seemed much more handsome and alluring because I had been in such a bad mood the night before. Maybe he’d be dull and my standards had been low. Perhaps he was blonder and more wholesome than I recalled?

I needed have worried. His hair and conversation were just the right shade of dirty and the evening flew by in a haze of strong cocktails and intense flirting. I ended up sitting on his lap on a sofa in the bar and even if it hadn’t been closing time on a Sunday night, that was the cue to go home together.

He lived nearby in a beautiful flat unsurprisingly full of  wood and stylish furniture he’d made himself. He led me round by the hand giving me a full tour and somehow setting the pace for the rest of the night it seemed. He guided me into the kitchen, pressing me against the wooden worktops as he opened the fridge and handed me a bottle of very expensive champagne to open.

I was literally twisting the bottle and edging the cork out when he said ‘by the way, you should probably know now that I’m impotent’. There was the merest breath of a pause as his words filled the kitchen and the cork fizzed off the bottle over my hand with the most inappropriately judgemental sound I’d ever heard and a timing you simply couldn’t fake.

Still holding the champagne and suddenly sober I reached up and kissed him, half horny, half desperate not to make things awkward. It was the right thing to do. I felt him imperceptibly relax and kiss me back. What could have been a cold shower suddenly got very hot

Next thing I knew he was lifting me up onto the kitchen counter and pulling my underwear down and his face was pressed into my soaking wet cunt. I was still holding the bottle of champagne and being drunk on both nerves and booze, leaned back with my legs wide open and pussy pressed up into his face and let him lick me to an orgasm while I drank champagne straight out of the bottle.

Champagne and cunt taste excellent together when you kiss someone straight from yourself and we continued kissing and him making me come repeatedlly with his tongue and fingers on the sofa til the bottle was empty as we took turns to swig from it before we eventually fell asleep like that.

I woke up a few hours later on the sofa alone and realised he’d gone to bed without trying to move me or even cover me up and sensed that he wanted me and my knowledge of his body gone. I hunted in the semi darkness of the kitchen for my underwear and left without it when there was no sign.

In the brighter light of the street it really couldn’t have been more obvious that I was doing a Monday morning walk of shame. My bare legs and bare cunt felt like bare faced embarrassment at the bus stop especially when I had to stand in the crush and sway of the lower deck at rush hour because I’d have committed public indecency if I’d tried to walk up the stairs.

All I could tell myself was that it would have been more awkward to have stayed and exchanged small talk with him over the empty champagne bottle on the living floor. My justification to my flatmate that I hadn’t fucked him was how I attempted to save face…

Near Miss

Happy Halloween

As I’ve mentioned before I loathe dressing up in fancy dress but I adore dressing up for purely over the top slutty reasons to make either my Master or Princess horny (and I certainly enjoyed the attention this hobby created when I was younger too.)

So when I ended up spending Saturday night with Princess and twigged that it was the night most people would do their Halloween dress up, I figured I should take advantage of that opportunity. First I went for the heavy smoky smudgy eye make up that just cries out to be smeared into a pillow you are face down in while being fucked because anything less would be a waste.

And secondly I went for a Halloween appropriate body suit without a bra to really show off my pierced nipples and put it with fishnet stockings and thigh high boots so that when I answered the door to Princess she knew instantly I had fucking on my mind.

I let her take her coat and shoes off before I ordered her to strip off and lick my cunt as I lay on the sofa legs spread wide watching her absolutely bury her face in my clit until she made me come twice.

She was bratty enough to keep trying to make me come a third time but I made her lie on her back on the floor and put my tongue on her cunt while she squirmed and asked for more. I do love to lick her cunt as she’s so expressive when I do. She lifts her feet up in order to open her legs wider and push herself deeper into my mouth so that I can suck on her clit and flick my tongue over it at the same time.

It never fails to make her come and this was no exception with her ass lifting up off the carpet with her cunt right in my face as she gasped out her orgasm greedily. And because she’s such a greedy girl, I pushed her back down on the floor and put the Doxy on her clit before she’d even stopped coming the first time.

She was half way to begging for more and half way to asking me to stop as she was so overwhelmed even pulling away from the Doxy momentarily which is very unlike her usual wand slut self. I did laugh at how firm she was when she practically hissed ‘put it back’ urgently the second she realised what she’d done.

And I enjoyed the power of turning the wand up higher and higher and holding it right on her clit as she tried to sit up and play with my cunt while I destroyed hers with her second orgasm in close succession. Her clit just begs for those deep rumbling vibrations and explodes into incredible orgasms that delight me every time.

I particularly enjoyed lying on top of her still teasing her with the wand on low power between her legs feeling her whole body still experiencing her orgasm as I pressed my soaking cunt against hers to prove just how much I enjoyed giving orders dressed like this…

 

Happy Halloween

Start As You Mean To Go On

I had the kind of childhood you forget huge chunks of to get through. I don’t say this for sympathy but to explain why the oddest things stick in my mind from my formative years but others people might expect don’t.

Princess and I were talking recently about early sexual experiences and while she can remember exactly the first time she masturbated or had an orgasm, I couldn’t. Not that there’s any explicit trauma around those things for me but in blocking out the bad bits, you also shut out the good bits.

It got me thinking about the things that shaped my sexuality generally and because I have the most incredibly relaxed therapist I’ve been discussing it in sessions recently and seeing what was lurking in my brain after the time I’d forgotten I’d had my first three person relationship at the age of sixteen. And I got quite a shock with what I recalled.

Because depending what you consider your first sexual experience, mine was with a girl I went to primary school with. We didn’t fuck or even touch each other but it was the first time I ever got naked for pleasure with someone else which is a pretty notable sexual experience in itself.

We were friends at school because we were the dysfunctional ones in a school of privileged kids. My parents showed no real interest in me and her parents were divorcing at a time when such things were still incredibly rare in Ireland. And to add to our bonding, our issues were with our mothers in a society that exalts motherhood to the point of sainthood.

Her mother in fact had recently run off with a much younger man who rode a motorbike in full leathers and left her and her sister with their dad while she was clearly having some kind of mid life sexual awakening that fascinated us as we’d never really thought about parents being sexual until then.

We spent a lot of the summer between leaving primary school and starting secondary school at her house taking advantage of neither of her parents being around much but trying to make up for it by paying for MTV in the days when that had social cache. Occasionally we had to look after her younger sister and occasionally I had to skip her house to be looked after by my brother and he was the more useful of the two siblings.

Being as he was at the time a teenage boy, he and his friends spent a lot of time seeking out porn. In those days that came in the shape of magazines that had to be hidden more carefully from prying parental eyes than an internet search history does now. Unfortunately for them they weren’t smart enough to hide it from a curious little sister and I took them to my friend’s house where we thought it might enlighten us to what was making her mum act like she was.

We started out fascinated by it all, flicking through the pages seeing seemingly normal looking women get more and more scantily clad and turned on. Each page stripped off the bikinis or underwear we were used to seeing women posing in national newspapers or beer cans and we remained quite blasé until we discovered that these women’s cunts looked different to ours behind the scenes.

Both of us were at that stage of puberty where our bodies were changing but still not fully developed. I was slightly envious of her in the changing rooms because she was ready to wear a bra and I was still in camisoles but like most girls of that age getting changed for swimming or games meant not letting any part of your body below the neck be seen by anyone else for fear of social shaming.

So I’d never thought about hers or anyone else’s cunt and I’m not sure we’d ever been given the euphemistic advice to ‘get to know yourself’ with a hand mirror by then as we didn’t get the period talk until secondary school. We were goggle eyed when the pages got to the point of the women pulling their labia apart to reveal this whole new landscape behind the familiar vulva we knew we both had.

Like any kids learning about their bodies we found it hard to believe we could be like that too and I’m not sure if it was a practical decision or suggestion that we look at our own to compare with these blissed out looking women in Penthouse or Fiesta. I don’t remember if we undressed together or what stages it took but at some point we were both completely naked in her bedroom with the magazines between us.

There was definitely a childishness to this show and tell to begin with but as both of us lay against the bed with our legs apart, pulling our cunt lips open and staring at what we found on ourselves and each other, I remember the atmosphere changing. I’m not sure who turned the pages until we found the inspiration that we could slip our fingers inside these fascinating folds we found out we had.

I don’t know if she’d known you could do that before or had been doing it already but I definitely hadn’t and we both felt the effects of it as soon as we did going from casual exploration to pleasure seeking. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have explained this as masturbation if pushed to explain but we’d definitely changed the dynamic now.

I remember her lying back on the bed against her pillows with her knees open and her cunt looking different to mine but right there with her finger inside as she wriggled and moved. I remember also putting a finger inside myself but being up on my knees with the magazine in between us and definitely continuing to flick through it.

We didn’t articulate what we were doing as I doubt we had words for it but we took turns in those positions to pull ourselves open into the same poses as the women in the magazine as if copying them and pretending each other was the audience even though it wouldn’t have occurred to us that women could look at each other too.

I remember being a stickler for rules and orders even then and not deviating from the poses I saw in pages and pages of porn. But she was a rebel who used her other hand to pinch her nipples and rub her cunt as well keeping her fingers moving inside her. I don’t know if she’d acquainted herself with her clit before but she was certainly a faster learner than me with her body arching and squirming as both her hands moved at once while I watched until she went still.

I think I thought she’d gone still because she’d heard someone coming home but now I realise that she’d actually come in front of me. I know I didn’t because I was still sticking to the orders of the magazines to pose rather than perform like she had. I bet if she’d told me what to do I’d have got over my shyness instantly.

And then we did hear her grandparents coming home and luckily both were slow on the stairs giving us time to shove the magazines under the duvet and pull our clothes back on. I remember feeling so aware of my cunt when I put my shorts back on with the almost throbbing ache I now know is being incredibly turned on but not getting to come.

I also remember eating dinner with her and her grandparents and then being sent to play together afterwards but her barely looking at me or talking until I went home with my stash of magazines rescued from her bed. I do remember that one was missing when I checked though and I also remember that she and I never hung out again before going on to separate secondary schools a few weeks later.

I also remember being very keen to get that intense almost uncomfortable but can’t think about anything else feeling between my legs back again because it felt so good to me. I suspect that that was the summer I discovered masturbation. I wonder what else I’ll remember next…

Start As You Mean To Go On

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