The Right Note

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Right Note

Foundations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Foundations

Broadening My Mind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Broadening My Mind

First Date

I promised you tales of my past sexual exploits and to start off I thought I might tell you about the time I gatecrashed a first date while out for a drink with a friend and ended up getting fucked.

I used to love a good night out but I’ve always hated the post work Friday night crush that spills into every available space in and around a pub. I used to get round it by having very sharp elbows and a total and utter lack of shame about standing so close to people leaving their table I practically slid over their knees as they stood up to grab their still warm seats.

It was inevitable this would catch up with me at some point and so it happened in that in a favoured pub in Shoreditch shortly after settling down with a close friend and a bottle of white wine one Friday night, a guy asked if he and the woman he was with could share the table and just sat himself down before we say no.

It was exactly the kind of arrogant bullshit that goes straight to my cunt if the guy is handsome enough and this guy was a knock out. Tall and dark with cheekbones you could cut yourself on and that look of barely suppressed filth. No wonder he was on a date.

I was drinking my wine and listening to my friend’s exploits with an investment banker she was dating at the time while enjoying the company and gradually I became aware that our neighbours were not having such a good time. Despite being squashed in close enough to feel each other breathe they were on two different dates.

She seemed to be on the kind of date that is auditioning for a boyfriend as she ticked off each relevant topic of career, five year plans, kids and what to call their first Labrador. He was responding to each intro with an attempt to flirt and create some kind of light hearted rapport that was tanking each time. It was a mismatched car crash neither of them was enjoying and I was fascinated.

I think he must have sensed my interest because he seemed to stop focusing quite as much on her and start to address his responses more generally to the table as if appreciating an audience. His date surprisingly did not feel the same way to begin with but as their tension approached actual argument she seemed to hope she could get two women on her side and gang up on him.

She certainly got my friend onboard almost immediately and with in minutes they were chatting like long lost friends leaving me to talk to him. And I was very receptive to his flirting which as soon as his date realised made her much more interested in him and plunged the table into a different sense of tension.

Being British, their answer to that was to buy more drinks and a second bottle of wine appeared on our table for my friend and I only for my new found frenemy to pull the ‘oh we must be somewhere else’ trick about twenty minutes later counting on the fact we’d stay where we were drinking free booze and whisk her date away before he could flirt further with me.

She hadn’t counted on me being just past the point of sober to behave and him having sneaked a beermat with his phone number onto the table before he left. I had texted him before she must have decided what they were doing next. His reply was prompt and to the point telling me to meet him in the Holiday Inn nearby in an hour.

My friend was oblivious to this all and my excuses for saying I was going home early for once on a Friday night and insisting on waiting with me at the bus stop before walking round the corner to her house. I had actually board the bus to get rid of her and go two stops down the road before doubling back to the hotel.

I felt like a fucking idiot when I was just on time and he wasn’t with no sign in the next ten minutes in bar or reception. I was debating whether to text him passive aggressively for embarrassing  me or slink away and sober up. I was going with the second option when three digits appeared on my phone.

I was up the stairs and standing outside the hotel room seeing the door ajar before it occurred to me that curiosity is said to kill the cat. But I was certainly thinking only with my pussy when I pushed the door open to find him standing there completely naked and considerably cockier than he had even seemed in the pub.

He didn’t have to tell me to get on my knees. The next thing I knew I had my back pressed up against the closed door with his cock in my mouth too distracted to care if he was a serial killer or not only paying attention to my increasingly wet cunt.

He was certainly arrogant enough to make it all about himself first, stopping and backing away from me each time I hit the kind of stride on his cock that might make him come so that I had to crawl across the floor toward him to be allowed to start sucking him again.

I had got as far as the bed when he decided to pay me attention by flipping me onto it face first and pulling my jeans off and pressing his cock against my still clothed cunt so I ground against him until I was clearly desperate for him to fuck me

For a man who’d had his cock sucked to the point of orgasm repeatedly he fucked me hard and intensely until I came round him and then he pushed my face hard into the bed by my hair so my make up smudged as my eyes ran and I squirmed under him as he came into me for what felt like forever.

I was still face first in the bed legs hanging over the edge when he pulled my panties back into place and started threading my foot back into my jeans. Between being tipsy, fucked senseless and enjoying the powerlessness he’d created in me, I didn’t fight it letting him dress me and pull me to my feet and point me back towards the door where my coat and bag were and steer me out into the corridor.

I don’t remember either of us exchanging a single word and I was walking through reception looking exactly like I’d been fucked stupid and sent away again within an hour of arriving. I was too amused by how much his actual date would have freaked out his plans for the evening had been while I had embraced every inch of it…

First Date

Innocent Times

You know you have a very very good friend in your life when you can joke with each other about your love of fisting without either being shocked or startled.

My closest male friend happens to be a gay man with a taste for anal fisting and we generally end up discussing everything in our lives so he finds my new fascination with vaginal fisting quite hilarious.

I woke up to this photo from him this week to celebrate Folsom Street Fair and now we might be the only two people finding American politics even remotely funny at the moment.

folsom-postI’d only just stopped laughing at that and discussing his plans to attend Folsom Street Fair next year when he sent me over the edge with another photo featuring the fantastically named character from Eighties cartoon phenomenon He-Man.

fistoI was always more a She-Ra kind of girl because I loved her boots, but both cartoons passed me by somewhat thanks to He-Man’s atrocious hair which looked like it was cut with a special bowl up at Castle Grayskull.

But I’m tempted to check out old clips on You Tube now to see if both shows have some kink undertones I wouldn’t have spotted as a kid but that might have shaped me subliminally anyway.

As well as laughing at the photo of the fantastically named Fisto, my friend and I started discussing where one’s kinks come from. Is it that you are wired to be kinky and exposure to certain things creates specific kinks you identify and hone over the years or are you already attracted to certain things and seek them out?

I hadn’t thought about it for years but before my parents moved house to a ‘nicer’ area, I loved playing games with the kids in our terrace that always involved being told what to do by someone more domineering and occasionally involved being tied up and made to kneel in complete silence waiting to be told what to do.

I don’t remember anything sexual per se in the scenario but I do remember absolutely loving that game more than anything else I played with other kids. The boys would be in charge and the other girls would complain and fidget and whisper as they knelt. I got a warm calm feeling while kneeling and could do it for ages without moving or growing bored and was always disappointed when the game ended.

I never associated it with kinkiness until now as I’m still self contained and silent in many settings, but I’m amazed by how strongly I can remember the feelings and sensations of that memory over 30 years later.

I’m intrigued to start digging a bit deeper into seeing where all the clues to my love of submission are and seeing them in new light now. I’m even more intrigued as to where other people’s kinks might have developed from though…

 

Innocent Times

Pierced

Pierced nipples in 3/4 cup bra and corset

Speaking of getting my nipples pierced being a turning point for me in D/s, it’s in fact a whole year since I got them done for my Master.

We’d never discussed anything like that before and then in a relatively casual conversation one afternoon, he told me he was thinking of having my nipples pierced. I’m not sure if he was expecting some negotiation or bargaining or simply refusal from me but by tea time I’d booked the appointment to have them done.

In fact I’d have actually had them pierced that day if I hadn’t gone to a work meeting and got sidetracked by working with a guy from my hometown. What should have been a quick chat ended up in a long involved conversation that felt so distinctly flirty the person I’d actually gone to meet had to drag my attention back to him in a most unsubtle way and ask the other guy to leave and go back to work.

I’d been so busy flirting it wasn’t until he was being shooed out of sight and the conversation was being wound up that we caught each other’s names. There was the kind of pause no one could fail to miss and he bolted.

Time and age might play tricks on you, but sometimes you never forget a name. Especially when it’s the one of the first person who ever fucked you in the ass. I might not have recognised him until I heard it out loud again, but it suddenly made sense why there had been that sense of chemistry all afternoon.

One of the most unexpected and yet memorable weekends of my teens had been spent fucking him every which way and I’m still not sure if the pause was embarrassment at not recognising each other sooner or because we both remembered the occasion so well when we did.

Either way it left me too flustered and short of time to get my nipples pierced the same day so in the end I had to wait a week before I could have them done. Seven whole days of anticipation to follow the biggest order my Master had given me to date.

And in the end, the actual piercings were easier than I expected. The first one hurt like hell and the second gave me the most incredible rush of adrenaline and endorphins. I’ve never been so aware of my nipples as I was walking home with the most intense mix of pleasure and pain in them.

I couldn’t wait to show them to my Master, especially knowing I was sending him the photo of them to him while he was at work. I loved how they looked immediately and can’t imagine going back to my less sensitive nipples without the piercings in.

It doesn’t feel like a year ago, but that does mean they are now fully healed and once I obey the rest of my Master’s orders, that means my piercer will let me get my tongue done next…

Pierced

Picking Up The Pace

I’m not quite sure why I’m in such nostalgic mode this week. I don’t know if I’ve just got sucking cock on my mind because I haven’t had as much opportunity to do it recently as I’d like and that’s got my memories putting the effort in, but it made me look back at some old messages from my Master all the same.

And I think some of my reminiscing is because it was around this time last year that I realised my relationship with my Master wasn’t just an enjoyable erotic fling but an actual D/s dynamic.

I know it sounds almost ridiculous now, but I didn’t think of myself as at all kinky when I met my Master. Not because I thought there was anything weird about being kinky but more because I had very narrow ideas of what kinkiness was and that I wasn’t the ‘right’ kind of person for it.

At risk of making myself sound much older than I am, I came of age before the internet was widespread and in an environment where women enjoying sex was transgressive without complicating it further.

Kink was so far off that it never really occurred to me it could affect me. It was Robert Mapplethorpe photography and tales of San Francisco and leather bars. It was always gay men and whips and pain and where I grew up men told women what to do in every sphere of life anyway.

I didn’t know that Dominance and submission existed. S&M got mentioned, never D/s and wrongly I assumed that to be kinky you liked pain. It didn’t help that all the people I knew who did inhabit the now named BDSM scene tended to be gay men who embraced leather and being beaten so I thought it wasn’t my world.

Aware that plenty of other people (wrongly) thought them ‘freakish’ in kinds of ways, I didn’t want to add to it by quizzing them about their lives while they assumed that to be so comfortable with them, I must share some of their world and so the subject just never got discussed between us.

So I continued having many interesting sexual encounters with people I didn’t date and didn’t particularly like as people as they were often domineering assholes with their clothes on but yet I couldn’t seem to stop getting naked with them.

But if they were always nice and sweet and wanted to share everything equally, I liked them immensely as people but never craved them sexually the same way. I assumed I had dreadful taste in men and left it at that.

And then I met my Master and something was different right from the start. At first I thought it was the fact we didn’t fuck for several months after meeting, then I thought it was because it was non monogamous and then after almost six months, it dawned on me.

It was because this was D/s. I’d been so busy trying to decipher something that felt very complicated that I’d missed the simplest explanation. He liked taking charge and dominating me and I liked him doing it. I was exactly the right kind of person for it now I knew what the hell it was.

The clues were there. We’d had a conversation about it all when things had gone from flirty texts to full on fucking in the space of a few days and I still hadn’t got it because I was still thinking the concept of kink was the complicated bit, not the doing it.

It wasn’t until things got to the point of being blindfolded and getting wetter than anything else had ever made me before and ordering me to get my nipples pierced that the penny dropped for me.

Being a very slow learner I’d been mixing up kink and vanilla the whole time and not doing either particularly well. Luckily my Master took charge and brought me right up to speed…

 

Picking Up The Pace