Clear Out

Princess has a kink I didn’t know about until this week. But it turns out she gets turned on by tidiness and getting rid of clutter and I just happened to be having a belated spring clean and clear out which pleased her immensely.

The fact I found boxes of photos and clothes from my old slutty days certainly added to her enjoyment. I could just picture her face when I sent her a photo of the dress I wore on the Millennium. Black of course and completely and utterly sheer. I wore it with a black bikini underneath and danced on a table.

I also found a sheer pink vest top I used to love. Bought to layer under another top in an oh so nineties way, I remember putting it on one night to go clubbing and some friends calling round to drink first. By the time we jumped in a cab later, I was tipsy enough to have either forgotten or not care that I hadn’t layered the top up and went out in it.

It took a few moments in dark bars and clubs for people to notice that the top was completely see through and I wasn’t wearing a bra. I definitely didn’t buy a drink all night and I seem to recall my evening ended in a hotel room with one of the visiting DJs.

In contrast to the very tight figure hugging trousers I wear now, all the trousers I found from then were slouchy wide leg ones that I wore oversized and low on my hips, often without underwear and always with the hint that you could have just pulled them down to fuck me at anytime.

Sadly some of my sluttiness outfits were nowhere to be seen. There was a very tight strapless silver sparkly dress that was an eternal favourite when I was escorting. Everything about the dress screamed sex worker except that I always wore it with trainers and that confused bar staff into thinking I was a student playing dress up rather than actually working. Same with the red satin Chinese collared dress I had in those days that could decide if it was demure or dirty minded.

But my favourite most full on slut outfit was from when I first moved to London. I used to go to ridiculously hot dark hip hop nights dotted around dodgy pre gentrification railway arches around the city and the logical choice of outfit was again a bikini but worn under a pair of oversized denim dungarees.

I tended just to wear the bikini top and allow the cut out sides of the dungarees to show that I hadn’t bothered with the bottoms. Much easier for when you’d sneak outside part way through the night to get some air, usually accompanied by a man I’d met inside to hide in the shadows of another arch or alleyway together.

You could open the dungarees in a way that made it easy to pull them down at the back and bend me over to fuck me from behind while not actually being obviously naked which helps camouflage someone as pale as me in the darkness. There’s something also incredibly hot about fucking a stranger and keeping them a stranger that way.

I’m supposed to be clearing stuff out of my flat but this trip down slutty memory lane has me looking to buy a bikini top. I was more outrageous in my tastes in my twenties, but in my thirties I’ve got pierced nipples to show off instead. I think that’ll still turn Princess on…

Clear Out

Recycled

I had a busy weekend. Not only was I at Pride with my Master and Princess, I managed to have drinks with another friend. She happened to be the person who introduced us but remains unaware that we are more than occasional drinking buddies which always amuses me.

Events meant that our original choice of venue was closed and she called me to meet her elsewhere. I didn’t know the name of the pub and was shocked to walk round the corner and  discover it was the re-named version of one of my favourite haunts when I first moved to London.

Ostensibly I frequented it because it stocked obscure Irish items behind the bar that sated my homesickness, but the fact it was incredibly popular with bike couriers in tight shorts and muscles you only saw at certain angles kept me returning.

I don’t know if it’s something about being straddled across a bike saddle all day but bike couriers are both incredibly horny and utterly filthy. They also managed to combine being direct with being respectful in a way that meant they seemed to gauge whether you wanted to drink quietly while eyeing up their arse or be propositioned for all kinds.

My mind kept wandering during the grown up thirtysomething conversations of last night to my twentysomething evenings there. Despite there being no biked toned men at the bar last night I had more than one or two images of the men I remember from there fifteen years ago.

There was the most flexible man I’ve ever met who lived in a nearby warehouse with one of those beds on a platform that always made fucking seem more like living on the edge than I’d like but also allowed him to perform his party trick of flipping his legs over his head and sucking the tip of his own cock before fucking me senseless.

Or the guy who would fuck me slowly and intensely while speaking Russian to me in a way that went straight to my cunt every time. It always sounded like him giving me the kind of stern order you wouldn’t dare ignore, especially when he was holding my arms down at the same time. When something sounds that hot you can ignore that he might actually be reciting his bike route to you believe me.

But my favourite memory of nights in that pub came to mind when I nipped to the toilets which unlike the rest of the pub hadn’t changed a bit. There was the slight quirk with them that one cubicle in the women’s toilets was separate to the rest and very easy to sneak into with someone.

I fucked a few guys in there over a variety of Friday nights but there was one American guy I particularly remember. I used to kneel down and suck his cock while he would run his thumbs along the back of my neck making me purr with pleasure while pulling me deeper onto his cock.

He’d arch his back the hornier he got round my mouth and up onto his tiptoes so the tight lean muscles in his calves would look even more defined as he did and they’d quiver under the effort of holding him up and the feel of my hands on them as I’d pull him close as he came in my mouth.

He’d always pitch forward back onto the balls of his feet just as he came so his hands would go out against the toilet door to hold him and his cock would slide down the back of my throat so that swallowing him was like it was meant to be. I’d feel him deep in me with my forehead pressed against his stomach feeling the muscles contract as he tried to make no noise beyond a gasp.

We never fucked and he never touched me because he had a girlfriend back home and only oral sex was some kind of loophole for him not to think he was cheating on her. I never really cared. His calves and cock did amazing things to my cunt and I’d always go back to the bar soaking wet and so turned on I had no trouble catching someone else’s eye to fuck them later knowing he’d be watching me all night and thinking about the orgasm he just had.

I hadn’t thought about him for years but the memory came back to me so clearly standing there that fifteen years later I still went back out to the bar soaking wet and unable to concentrate on the conversation for pure unadulterated slutty nostalgia…

Recycled

Afternoon Delight

It turns out Saturday afternoon is an excellent time to suck cock in a public place.

I arranged to meet a guy who liked my choice in stockings and red lipstick and I arrived early at the cafe so I could watch for him arriving and working out which woman Candi is in a room.

I’d given him a hint of what I’d be wearing, but I’m intrigued to see if people can tell how slutty I am just by looking. Judging by the looks leopard print and fishnet stockings got and how easily he spotted me, I suspect they can.

I’d been drinking tea while I waited and hoped that he could spot the lipstick marks on the edge of the cup as a taster as to how his cock was going to look shortly while we chatted politely to allow time to see when was a good time to slip away from the cafe.

Needing to touch my lipstick up gave me an excellent excuse to check we had privacy to use the accessible toilet. I wanted both sets of lips as wet and glossy looking as possible before he knocked on the door.

I knelt on the floor in front of him and unbuckled his belt and took his cock in my mouth. I love that moment of licking the pre come off a cock and feeling it come completely to life in my mouth. As he got harder, my mouth got wetter and my sucking sloppier until there was a very nice rhythm going.

Unlike the other day, I didn’t lose it when not one but two people tried the door handle. I think the wicked thought of what they would have found if he hadn’t carefully locked it made want to take even more of his cock in my mouth.

I was enjoying it all so much it was almost a surprise when he came and came hard. I swallowed half of it and the rest finished off with my hand around his cock and dripping with his come.

A quick clean up for both of us and he left. I lingered a little longer to check what exactly had happened to my lipstick after taking a cock deep in my mouth. And I liked the plump redness of my lips afterwards so much, I decided to go shopping for a colour just like it.

So much more fun to shop for lipstick walking round round with a wet cunt and no panties and the taste of a strange man’s come in your mouth…

 

Afternoon Delight