Not Very Saintly

I was honestly quite pleased not to have to leave the house on Saturday. St Patrick’s Day in England is not top of my list of things to participate in. Despite it being the day worldwide that any fucker who has ever drunk a pint of Guinness claims Irishness, it’s also the biggest day of the year for people to tell me I’m not really Irish because I’m from the North.

I mean legally you’d be right because I haven’t got round to sending my Irish passport application off post Brexit. I was waiting for  the rush of suddenly green Brits to subside first but honestly don’t tell Northern Irish people what nationality you think they are. It’s literally why we had that whole conflict thing in the first place and neither side takes it well.

Seeing some Twitter beef about ‘proper’ Irish-ness after the rugby on Saturday first made me shake my head and then laugh when it reminded me of one of the finest slutty moments of my twenties in the fair city of Cork (which FYI, is quite definitely Irish by anyone’s standards even if has an English Market.)

Readers may remember me fucking a hot man who partook in extreme sports for a living. Well about six months later I happened to bump into him again in Cork over St Patrick’s weekend (and by happened to, I mean I willingly got on a bus and drove for eight hours with a bunch of hyperactive fellas with too much adrenaline and not enough sense knowing he was going to be there.) I promise it was much less stalker-ish than it sounds.

Luckily because English people don’t have a particularly good sense of geography about Ireland he didn’t look that surprised I was there not knowing it was such a trek to get round such a small island in those days and assumed I’d had not much else to do that weekend. I didn’t bother to correct him in case it scared him off.

We ended up in a pub on St Patrick’s Night in that post parade pre piss up stage of the evening along with my also Northern Irish female friend who was also on a slut hunting mission of her own that weekend hoping to impress one of the boys we’d come down with.

The craic was good when suddenly one of the local girls who had acquainted herself with the out of town men at the event earlier spoke to me. I may have had no common sense when I was twenty but being a massive slut I could always spot the other girls who were equally keen on cock but not on admitting it. We rarely ended up friends shall we say?

And sure enough there was no love lost at this moment. She very carefully directed it at me and my friend that we weren’t really Irish so what the fuck did we think we were doing in an Irish pub pretending we were? Knowing that was likely to kick off actual warfare at the table, I went to change the subject but she wasn’t finished and informed me that no wonder I only wanted to fuck fake Englishmen in that case.

There was that kind of total ‘oh fuck’ silence at that point when the air goes out of a room. The guy I was with was black along as was his friend who was sitting with us and the inference was clear. I wasn’t exactly au fait with racism in a country as white as bread but this was so overt it was impossible to miss.

I stood up picking up someone else’s perfectly poured pint of Murphy’s as I did. The silence remained for the split second that every single person in the pub thought I was about to chuck the stout in her face. Instead I necked it in one long swallow I’ve never managed before or since, banged the glass down on the table and left the pub with both the men she’d insulted allowing the shouting to start behind us.

We walked up the street a bit and the friend bumped into some other people he knew and left us to it. He was quiet after the scene in the pub and I was frankly pissed in both senses of the word. We ended up sitting on the bed in my hostel room drinking the remains of the bottle of gin we’d started on the night before and talking.

It felt like one of those nights you’d set the world to rights instead of anything else and tipsy on gin I assumed we wouldn’t end up fucking. But when I went to get more tonic I came back to find he’d moved the twin beds round for just that purpose. I was supposed to be sharing the room with my friend and having been watched before neither of us wanted an audience this time.

We pushed the bed against the door so it couldn’t open and then he pushed me up the bed with my legs open and started licking my cunt. I had always been ambivalent about oral sex until this point finding it pleasant enough but ultimately pointless for orgasms. Not this time. This guy had both a knack and a love for giving head that I had never encountered before.

He licked me into a literal haze of orgasms with absolutely no interest in stopping and taking any attempt from me to collect myself and my clit to push me into another orgasm with his tongue and fingers. The bed banged at one point as someone tried to open the door and he didn’t stop. Nor did the noise that told us the St Patrick’s party had arrived back at the hostel.

I remember getting to the stage of so many orgasms that my legs actually started to go numb and he flipped me over so I was face first in a pile of pillows on my hands and knees as he fucked me to yet another orgasm for me and his first of the evening. I was so spent with orgasms I barely noticed the bed bang again as I collapsed forward ass in the air as he licked his own come out of me for the final orgasm of the last few hours.

I lay in a completely fucked senseless heap, out of breath and unable to sit up and marvelling that my ears were actually ringing from it all. That bus journey seemed like the best decision I’d ever made. And then two things occurred to me at the same time as him. Neither of us could sit up because we’d broken the bed. And the ringing was actually the fire alarm going off.

He rolled over and reminded me that we were staying in the same hostel as the guys who would go on to host the show Dirty Sanchez on MTV and they pulled stunts like this on the tour all the time and that if we wanted to make sure there wasn’t a fire, we were going to have move a broken bed.

We thought no more about it and went to sleep on the other bed instead. We woke up hungover and fucked in the still standing bed before trying to hide the evidence of the broken one. We gave up repairing it and wen to meet our friends in the pub instead.

Turns out that everyone else had had to evacuate the building the night before not because there was a fire but because the hostel had called the Gardai to turn the alarm off and stop the party getting properly out of control. Everyone who was anyone in Cork seemed to have been there and so our absence had been well and truly noticed.

He and I walked into the pub to a chorus of jeers and cheers designed to make a scene with my nemesis from the night before sat with a face like soured milk on her. However there was a noise behind us and the cheers stopped as soon as they’d started falling into shocked silence. Unbeknown to us the only other person unaccounted for during the fire alarm was the friend we’d left the pub with and he had just walked in behind us making everyone assume we’d actually been having a threesome.

Enjoying rendering another pub speechless with my sluttiness, none of us corrected them and my fuck buddy and I very much appreciated his friend loudly and obviously buying us breakfast to add to this impression. I’m sure my comments over the soda bread about real Irish hospitality didn’t compound that suspicion at all…

Not Very Saintly

Drag Hag

I was talking to Princess the other day about RuPaul’s Drag Race. Bizarrely for someone who loves make up and used to work in a drag bar back in the early days of living in London, I’ve only ever seen one episode of it (actually with Sir and Princess.)

She and I were discussing how many millions of people must have discovered their sexuality (or become allies or more aware of LGBTQ+ culture) because of RuPaul and Drag Race. We were both trying to work out who are first drag queen was and despite our age gap both of us thought RuPaul had probably been our introduction to drag culture.

I definitely remember having a card advertising the original Viva Glam lipstick back in 1994. The fifteen year old me was bewitched by the unisex glamour of MAC Cosmetics which were unobtainable in Ireland in those days and I was dazzled by RuPaul in a frock and k.d lang in a suit both gender bending for a good cause.

I stuck that card to my wall above the desk I studied for my GCSEs at and stared at it as some kind of portal to a world where anyone could wear make up and be who they wanted. And like many people before and since I found that world in the local gay bars.

My hometown only had one gay bar that advertised itself as such while one other pub had an upstairs room frequented by what we’d now call bears and tended to be too old for my friends and I to go. I got to know the gay friendly haunts well as I had several barely out gay friends and was a safe person to accompany them as they met men for fun for the first time.

It never occurred to me that some of those men were bisexual until one Monday night a female friend and I tripped along to the gay bar for Miss Penelope Pitstop’s Big Balls Bingo with our town’s possibly only drag queen mixing local banter and high camp to a mixed audience.

Since she was a minister’s daughter she got a fit of guilt about being there and left abruptly (although her parents were very welcoming when she came out as bisexual herself soon after even if she had a tendency to act like the only gay in the village after she did.)

I figured I could finish my drink safely in a bar full of men with eyes for each other and was slightly surprised when suddenly I was hugged hard and joined at my table by a guy I knew from my clubbing days. We’d always enjoyed drug fuelled conversations after big nights out crashed out on aged sofas in student houses talking earnestly while off our faces but had never really spoken sober.

I didn’t really think much of seeing him there until we were well into the bingo and drinks and he mentioned he knew Miss Penelope herself. In a stroke of almost embarrassing naivety I enquired how and he paused and batted his eyelashes at me and casually said he liked to suck her cock while she was in full make up.

I know my mouth made a perfect O in response to that. Not because as he thought for a second because I was shocked or horrified but because I was instantly turned on by the thought of it and fuelled by gin and confidences told him so. He grinned and signalled for more drinks. I knew that night wasn’t going to go home as early as my friend had.

We played several rounds of bingo, failing to make a house at any point since our attention had shifted to making eyes at each other. Having only ever discussed politics and putting the world to rights with this guy I was delighted to discover he was funny and incredibly fucking filthy.

I had no qualms when the bingo ended and he bought me a drink, kissed me on the lips and told me to entertain myself before disappearing for about fifteen minutes. I was amusing fag hag fodder to the other men in the bar who thought a wide eyed girl in a bar with a dabber had no idea what was going on.

My date reappeared and rescued me, sliding onto the seat beside me and his tongue into my mouth as he kissed me still tasting of cock and come. His hand definitely crept up my skirt and we looked very straight in a public place. That was our cue to leave together.

We fell into a cab kissing hard enough that the cab driver had to remind us we’d arrived twice. There was no pausing for drinks or polite chit chat in that way people do when they pretend they haven’t gone home together to fuck. We went straight to the bedroom.

I noticed two things that surprised me. For a man of barely twenty who appeared to live separately to his parents his room was immaculate with a properly made bed and even more unusually he was holding the first sex toy I’d ever seen.

He pushed me down on my knees and started pulling my tights down and skirt up so my panties were just low enough to sneak a peek at my cunt and for him to wedge the dildo he was holding into them so it stuck out like a cock that I had to hold tightly in place by pressing my thighs together.

I could feel my cunt soaking wet around it and making it tricky to keep in place with how slick my knickers felt. But when he knelt down, pulling his long hair off his face and started sucking the dildo like he clearly had been with Miss Penelope’s cock before we left together. I looked down watching his head bob and up and down on the dildo taking it deeper than I knew was possible.

I was so turned on and wet watching his floorshow I almost didn’t notice his final flourish as he deep throated the dildo pulling it out of my panties with his lips before putting his mouth back on my cunt and licking me with equal enjoyment and vigour.

My cunt responded in delight as I discovered my first bisexual man that night. We fucked hard that night so that my first time using a sex toy was with his mouth and ass. I did enjoy his legs eleven for me, cock in hand and getting his jackpot that way.

Maybe not the most common introduction to drag culture I’ll agree but one I’ve remembered for years since…

 

Drag Hag

Heat Me Up

I’ve had more conversations about boilers recently than anything else. Not only did mine decided to go on strike over the weekend but a friend might just have embarked on a illicit *thing* with the gas safety engineer who came to check hers the other week.

I did laugh as she sighed over a glass of wine that you can’t just fuck the boiler guy and thought to myself ‘I would’. It was only after she went home and I was clearing up the glasses that I remembered I had fucked the boiler guy once.

The only reason I didn’t text her to tell her that as encouragement is that while I didn’t mind her knowing my wicked ways but I did feel slightly embarrassed that my wicked ways are so debauched that I’ve got beyond forgetting the names of people I’ve fucked and into just forgetting whole people I’ve fucked. Being a slut is one thing. Being a slut with a terrible memory is a whole different game.

But when I was lying in bed that night I was pleased to note that I remembered the boiler guy extremely well when I thought back. He’d come to check gas safety certificate and do some maintenance work to allow the boiler to be signed off so was going to be there for a couple of hours.

Somehow the conversation went from flues and valves to tattoos. And it turns out this gas engineer was a tattoo obsessive with full sleeves and coordinating chest and back pieces of botanically accurate Japanese cherry blossom which I have to say I wasn’t expecting in deepest south London.

His face lit up in that way that happens when you give people permission to talk about the thing they love and that was the moment I realised the boiler guy was extremely good looking. I have always been an absolute slut for men who lose their self consciousness and just enjoy their interests even if they are silly or geeky or unfashionable.

And this guy loved Japanese sakura. I mentally skipped over the bit where he mentioned travelling to Japan to see the blossom in person on his honeymoon and listened to him describe how beautiful it was. I was trying to picture how that might look tattooed on his body when I realised he was asking me did I want to see the artwork?

I must have said yes but next thing I knew his shirt had come off and his tattoos were right there along with his nicely muscled torso. He turned and paraded for me so I could take in the detail of each black and white blossom and flower. And the only other thing I am a bigger slut for than lack of self consciousness is really really good tattoos on men.

And these were some of the most beautiful tattoos I have ever seen. Clearly designed as one whole piece and with an artist who wanted to use and enhance the shape of this guy’s body with light and shade, it literally flowed and cascaded down his back and arms and showed off both his skin and the sheer movement of his body with each little ripple or flex of a muscle or tendon.

It was incredibly hot. The kind of hotness where the room seems to grow thick with anticipation and time seems to slip and slide slowly but inevitably to the moment you start fucking. He lifted my hands onto his arms and let them move across this carpet of flowers and start sliding down onto the smooth but unmarked skin of his stomach.

I’m not sure if my hands moved themselves almost without control or he guided them but I was undoing his trousers and he was completely naked in my hallway, his body contrasted between the black and white of the top and the bare flesh of the bottom drawing my eye right to the middle and his hard cock.

He was still in the hall where anyone could see through my front door when I went down on my knees to suck his cock. I could feel his muscles tense and although I wasn’t able to see it from that angle I could just picture how good his back looked flexing like that. I loved that I was fully dressed and he was completely naked.

Something caused a noise outside and we both realised what we were doing and he stepped into my living room and closed the door to give slightly more privacy and possibility to fuck. I used the break to go and find some condoms in my bedroom and when I came back was greeted by another favourite sight that goes straight to my cunt.

He was standing cock in hand with that same lack of self consciousness as earlier and exactly how I imagine he makes himself come when he’s alone. I love that familiarity men have with their own bodies and it always makes me horny to watch. He just kept pulsing and clenching his hand on his cock so smoothly I hardly noticed he’d slipped the condom on while I’d got undressed.

He pulled me down on top of him on the carpet and we fucked. I had a fantastic view of his arms and chest and those tattoos almost til the last second when he pulled me down hard onto his torso and came into me. I remember grabbing his arms and pulling him against me until I came and then lying back for one last glance of that beautiful blossom.

I can’t remember how we disentangled ourselves but it wasn’t awkward. None of that ‘what the fuck just happened?’ wash of shame or regret. Almost that feeling of it just being how things are sometimes. I’m fairly sure in a stroke of pure Irish sluttery I made us tea while he got dressed again and went back to being a gas engineer without this ink superpower under his shirt.

After he left I thought many times about his tattoos and the effect body modification can have. In fact the impact lasted so long and so vividly in my mind’s eye that’s why I’d forgotten about the boiler connection til now. I think I could probably still draw his tattoos but I couldn’t tell you what his face looked like.

I’d only know it was him come to fix my boiler again in the future if he recognised me or happened to have stripped his shirt off before he got here. I won’t lie. The latter would have made a midnight boiler call out last night much more fun…

Heat Me Up

Go Faster Stripes

I’m not sure it was entirely down to shaving my legs but I’ve definitely come back to life a bit recently. Smooth skin definitely got my brain going if not my cunt and I felt the urge to start texting smut chat to Sir again.

There was definite excitement on Saturday when I arranged my first proper trip out of the house since New Year to go Master and Princess’s house. Lying in bed during the day resting a tiny bit of me felt like I should be sensible and make sure I didn’t over do it too soon. The rest of me was absolutely adamant that even if it landed me back in bed for the foreseeable I was going to fuck them when I was there.

The only thing of any warmth and interest I’ve touched in weeks has been my electric blanket and it’s a very poor substitute for the feel of my two favourite people pressed against me. I told Sir I was hoping to get naked again after getting dressed to come to theirs and wore my favourite fuck me boots to be sure I had made my point when I arrived.

Honestly I’d have been quite content to walk in their front door shedding clothes with each step and straight into their bed but Sir hasn’t lost his love of making me wait. He poured drinks and cooked an excellent dinner and left me to squirm on the sofa the whole time. I was so close to discovering my inner brat and actually begging him to fuck me when Princess let her brat flag fly and started sucking his cock while he laughed at how eager we both were.

She and I took turns to suck his cock and it was the oddest thing. I felt completely out of practice. His cock tasted and felt familiar but instead of that muscle memory of knowing a long term lover’s body I felt like I was starting all over again like I’d never sucked a cock before. And not just with him but I couldn’t get my position or rhythm with Princess’s cunt either. It was like I was a beginner again.

I always love when my Master takes charge and I needed it even more than usual as he ordered me how to kneel and what to do and pulled me onto his chest to kiss me so I couldn’t have moved away even if I wanted to. Which I didn’t. Him kissing me so hard he almost bit my lips brought me back into the pace of playing with both of them as I rediscovered the feel of them both.

I love that state. Sort of blissed out on sex and submission and open to anything Sir tells me. So when he led me over the kitchen table and bent me over it I didn’t care how much I needed to contort myself to take his cock. Or how hard he was fucking me against the edge of the table. Nor how high in the air I had to hold my legs up when he put me on the table under Princess’s cunt and kept his cock deep inside me.

I was drunk on dick and her taste barely registering what they were doing just drinking in the feeling of it all. Sir brought me right back by coming on my cunt so it dripped down onto the table while Princess licked my clit on her hands and knees with her naked ass and cunt right up against the kitchen window for all the street to see.

It felt amazing. And even better next day when I had stripes of bruising on my upper thighs where Sir had fucked me so hard against the table it had left marks. I love those markers of sex. I love the smell of someone on me next day, the feeling that my legs were pushed apart, the sensation that my cunt was fucked raw the night before.

I felt it in the ache of my muscles afterwards and the bruises that kept developing and the sheer sense that as well as being sated with orgasms, touching and fucking and playing with my Master and Princess somehow feels like being back to myself after feeling distant while the only warm touch in my life had been with my electric blanket.

Each little ache and mark reminded me that it’s like coming home to sex after a long vacation…

Go Faster Stripes

Seasonal Surprises

I’m a fan of the concept of Christmas but like many things less keen on the reality of it. I’m also not a fan of organised fun so it was surprising to me that I went to a Christmas panto with my Master and Princess the other night. I mean admittedly it was a queer panto at a gay bar with at least three jokes about fisting. The minimum of awkward audience interaction and the opportunity to get quite drunk definitely made for festive cheer.

It also meant it was much fun to stay at their house than go home afterwards and we all piled in bed drunkenly and my Master and I discovered we were both horny. I’ve never had properly drunk sex with Sir before and I’ve definitely never fucked him in the dark. I was enjoying being pressed up against him only able to work out of what he was doing using all my other senses.

Feeling his hands on me, then hearing him reach for the lube and the sound of him applying it and feeling his hands in me. It was hot in that frantic way you fuck when you’re drunk and horny with none of the of the niceties of sober sex. Just the urge to come and then fall asleep together. I’d forgotten that aspect of drunken fucking.

I’d also forgotten that when I when I’m drunk I never get as wet because alcohol dehydrates more than just my mouth. So I was enjoying my Master manhandling me into positions he could fuck me hard and deep with the simple purpose of coming hard instead me while Princess listened to us and played with her clit at the same time.

But it was also uncomfortable at times. Friction in ways I wouldn’t choose and I definitely took a few deep breaths at times. It didn’t stop me coming but as I fell asleep after helping Princess come I really felt that my cunt had been used and suspected Sir might have to go gently with me in the morning after that.

I didn’t think anything else of it when I woke up at 3.30am dying for a pee. I still don’t know my Master and Princess’ house well enough to be get up in the middle of the night in that barely conscious autopilot I do in my own flat and I have to remind myself to have manners and close the bathroom door even though no one would really notice.

I sat down sleepily and was jolted more wide awake than I think I’ve ever been when there was a noise like a cannonball ricocheting around the bathroom and the feeling of something heavy dropping out of my cunt. When I turned the light on I discovered that my Master had not put his fist inside me earlier but a giant metal ben wa ball*.

I think we can say my stretching training has been extremely successful because I had completely failed to notice the large weighted jiggle ball inside me until it fell out and I was standing in Sir’s bathroom thinking two things. Had I just broken his toilet and how the hell was I going to rescue a metal ball in the middle of the night?

I really had no choice except to put my hand down the toilet and fish it out before scrubbing it and myself in the posh hand wash and go back to bed hoping that I hadn’t woken anyone up with a peace shattering noise. This time I went back to sleep half horrified, half amused at the capacity of my cunt.

I did worry a bit what my Master would say when I told him this tale in the morning and luckily he found it hilarious. I found it slightly less funny when he told me there were two of them and asked where the other one was. Princess volunteered to check my cunt to no avail and they were both surprisingly good humoured that it had probably caused chaos with their plumbing just before Christmas.

We got up and made breakfast chuckling about when kinks go wrong and my Master joking about how as Christmas presents go this one had excelled itself with the sex and the amusement even if they were never a pair again and he had an awkward hour with a plumber as pay off.

After breakfast I went to brush my teeth and shower while he and Princess were clearing up and as I finished brushing my teeth, I sneezed and got an even bigger shock than in the middle of the night when I felt the second supposedly missing ben wa ball slide out of my cunt.

My mental reflexes are clearly faster than my cunt’s because I managed to avoid dropping it on my bare foot or breaking the bathroom floorboards even while laughing that I had absolutely no idea that it had been inside my cunt for the last twelve hours and I hadn’t even noticed.

The only feeling better than realising just how stretched but strong my cunt is after all that training was the moment when I walked into the living room and held a jiggle ball in each hand and watched my Master and Princess’s faces as they realised the ben wa ball was no longer missing and my cunt can perform magic tricks….

 

*in case you missed the small print in that link the two jiggle balls weigh 1.6 pounds in total. That’s 725g metric if you prefer. And I can’t decide if not noticing that I have something the weight of three blocks of butter in my cunt is my finest kinky moment or utterly terrifying.

Seasonal Surprises

Waves Of Pleasure

When I started fucking my Master and Princess, I thought I was pretty sexual experienced. And I knew what orgasms felt like. What more was there to learn?

Well, self awareness for starters. I was fairly good at fucking before I met them both but I was an intermediate at best on orgasms. I’d had a few that knocked me off my feet and they still surprised occasionally (like the time I found my own G spot by accident) but actually orgasms weren’t the biggest part of of sexual activity for me.

I’d never had a multiple orgasm. I rarely got ones that reached past my immediate cunt. The idea that I’d have to lie down unable to speak after an orgasm because it left me so dazed and delighted. I never came from oral sex. I had never squirted or ejaculated. I had no idea nipple orgasms were a thing. I clearly had a lot to learn and my Master and Princess have taught me in abundance.

I’m spoiled bloody rotten these days. Multiple orgasms have become something I am very familiar with but not blasé about. I always come twice when Princess licks my cunt. I can come extravagantly with my Master’s cock inside me. I assumed I was pretty advanced level with orgasms now. And then I learned something completely new and unexpected in the shape of a cervical orgasm and have had to re-write my mental map of orgasms all over again.

The cervix is an interesting thing. Usually only thought about in time of gynaecological things such as smear tests or inducing pregnancy, it crops up in terms of sex usually when women complain their partner’s cock hits at an odd angle in a painful way. It varies in size, shape and depth depending on your menstrual cycle and I never ever think about mine normally unless a nurse is pointing it out.

But my Master had other Monday night plans this week. Clearly whatever he’s doing at work at the moment leaves him very energised at the start of the week because he had it in mind that Princess and I should fist each other while he watched. I began with her letting my fist slide and inch into her cunt as it stretched and welcomed me inside and she clearly enjoyed the orgasm given my clenched fist and her Doxy.

As is fair we switched places and while Sir played with my piercings alternating between nipples and clit, Princess let my cunt just swallow her whole hand up with ease. It felt incredible because I do love a fist in my cunt after all. But then I don’t quite know what happened and her hand found my cervix which she described as small and hard and I had an orgasm quite unlike anything else.

I have no idea if she was stroking or rubbing my cervix but it produced an orgasm that simultaneously felt like I was floating outside my body while so utterly deeply present in it. I was aware of Sir playing with my clit and pressing against me but this orgasm rolled down my arms in waves through my whole body and made me come for what felt like minutes of pure unadulterated pleasure.

Usually an orgasm of that intensity would thanks to my weird body leave me like a limp rag unable to move but this one left me almost giddy like I was slightly tipsy and euphoric. It was incredible and completely unexpected.

When Sir fucked my open gaping cunt straight afterwards, I could still feel a huge amount of sensation in my cervix that felt like just the delicious edge of pleasure/pain and savouring every thrust. No wonder when he came into me it felt like my cunt was absolutely ruined, dripping come, lube and ejaculate all over Princess when he pulled out.

I’m going to want to be fisted even more often than I usually do now I’ve discovered this. Somehow I think Princess and my Master might oblige me if even I don’t beg nicely…

Waves Of Pleasure

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